Plant My Apple Tree
by parasprite
Summary: Mike has been alone for years, fighting and struggling. He expected to be alone until the inevitable happened - a knife between his ribs or a bullet in his head, it didn't matter, they all came with one very certain conclusion. He hadn't expected Harvey though. Hadn't expected to find a reason to live rather than merely carry on. Staying alive though was easier said than done.
1. Run Boy Run

**AN: **

Been a long time since I wrote anything since I'm in the habit of starting things but not finishing them. With this in mind I have written this in its entirety over the last year and (other than the last chapter and final editing on each chapter) it is now complete and will be ten chapters long. I hope you enjoy it! Only a few points to make:  
- There are references to a 'sickness' but this is NOT a zombie fic or anything like that  
- Warning you now - this won't be entirely happy at all and there will be violence but nothing too graphic (or what I'd define as ' too graphic')  
- I apologise now for any UK English where there are more appropriate US English substitutes!

I hope you enjoy it! I know I've enjoyed writing it. That's all I can think of that's important right now :)

Full Summary: 

They called it the end of days but in that end, humanity toppled itself. The sanity of society is a balance of a thousand insanities – but what if that balance tips?

Mike has been alone for years, fighting and struggling with every step he took. He expected to be alone until the inevitable happened - a knife between his ribs or a bullet in his head, it didn't matter really, they all came with one very certain conclusion.

He hadn't expected Harvey though. He hadn't expected to find a reason to live rather than merely carry on.

Staying alive though, well, that was easier said than done.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Run Boy Run**

_Seven years ago_

"_Did you hear?" Mike twisted from his game of chess with his grandmother to Janet, the carer who visited Grammy for one hour every morning, "What they're saying on the TV, did you hear?"_

"_They say a lot on the television," Mike scowled playfully as Grammy triumphantly claimed his king side castle for her own, "What have they said this time?"_

"_They're saying there's some kind of new super virus spreading in Brazil," Grammy looked up in interest while Janet sucked her teeth sceptically, "If you ask me, this is panic tactics,"_

"_Panic tactics?" Mike said in disbelief while Janet nodded fervently._

"_Yep. They get us all riled up over some virus a thousand mile away and then nurture a false sense of relief when we all survive!"_

"_Who are 'they'?"_

"_The government of course! Don't you know nothing boy?" Mike shared a fond smile with his grandmother._

"_No, I guess not."_

* * *

'_Acceptance of one's life has nothing to do with resignation; it does not mean running away from the struggle. On the contrary, it means accepting it as it comes, with all the handicaps of heredity, of suffering, of psychological complexes and injustices.'__  
__ - Paul Tournier_

* * *

Mike's feet were burning as they pounded the ground but he couldn't stop. _He couldn't stop._ They were behind him still, he could hear them. They were shouting and screaming taunts, threats and promises. _He couldn't stop. _If he stopped, they'd get him and if they got him, well, he didn't want to think about what they would do to him. He was lucky they didn't have guns. _But they did have knives._ His lungs were burning now, burning with the effort to keep working.

"Where you goin' pretty boy? We only wanna' play!" how did they have breath to talk?!

"I'm gonna' CUT YOU AND STRING YOU UP BY YOUR GUTS BOY!" Mike had no doubt he meant it – he'd seen worse around the city.

He held his breath momentarily, concentrating on thrusting a hand forward to vault over the bonnet of the rusting Toyota blocking his path. He owed his perfect landing to years of practise and his stumble to the tree root he hadn't expected to be breaking through the tarmac. He took off again. He whipped his head around to grab a quick glance of his pursuers: there were three of them, the closest of which was over fifty feet away. Mike didn't know if he was imagining the blood shot whites of his eyes or not. They were far enough away that they might give up but still close enough that if he didn't keep up the pace, they might catch up. His mind faltered for a second: three? He looked back again and counted again: three. But there had been four.

He gasped in surprise when suddenly, only ten feet ahead of him, was another man. _How the hell did he get there?_ His grin was full of yellowing broken teeth and a tongue darted out to lick at the corner of his mouth. In a split second decision, Mike tugged his knife free of his waist band in time to side step the man's arms as they reached out to grab him and plunge his knife with both hands into the man's abdomen. It made him feel sick at how easy it was, (the man's pained cry echoed in his ears) and the warm blood that poured out onto his hands didn't help. No, no time for that: he needed to _keep running._

Mike didn't know where he was now. The voices behind him were getting quieter but they were still there and he didn't know how to escape. He'd never been chased by a group so persistent but he had a feeling they hadn't anticipated him stabbing their point man. Where to go, where to go... _There!_ A subway entrance! This was potentially a terrible idea: of all the places in New York he avoided, the subway was one. It was a place with no easy escape. He had no idea who or what was taking refuge down there or how they'd react to him. Even if there was nothing down there, after over six years without maintenance and everything else that had happened on top of that, there was no telling how structurally sound it was. Right now though, there was little other option.

He took the steps three at a time and on the last three, he tripped and went careering down but managed to save his skull at the last second by tucking into a roll which he stumbled out of. He paused, winded, before starting to run again, ignoring the ache in his back from where he had landed.

The further he got from the entrance, the darker it became until all the light he had to see by was the periodic steel drums that had been filled with fuel and left to burn out. Another reason he never came down here: the place had been intermittently burning for the past five years as the people who'd taken refuge in the subways tried to stay warm. He'd heard a rumour there was a whole underground community in the tunnels but he'd never endeavoured to find out for sure. Fire safety usually wasn't these people's top priorities and at least two severe fires had gutted sections of the subway while billowing tons of black smoke out the subway entrances and into the sky. It was a wonder anyone still lived down here.

He stopped. Chest heaving, hands shaking and more than a little panicked, he took in his surroundings in a desperate attempt to regain his bearings.

The train track was flooded with almost two foot of water: unsurprising. He didn't know what it normally looked like, but there had been a near constant down pour of rain for the last two weeks. Who knew how much of that had contributed to the flooded tracks but it couldn't be all of it. The water, unmoving and stale, had dead things floating in it. Bugs, a cat, a black bird and a – he turned away quickly.

A body.

He forced his attention to the plastic seats lined against the wall (all but one broken) and the subway map above it (half missing and the rest faded away to illegibility). Invading roots were tangled around the structures and climbing up the walls and curving around the ceiling, reclaiming the subway back to the wilderness like so much else in the city.

He glanced back at the body.

He should search it – that would be the smart thing to do. It could have any number of useful things on it, it could have bullets! But no, he couldn't do it. After the beginning of the day, he didn't think he could physically drag the body out of the water or mentally handle the reality of looting a human being who had been long rotting. No, not today.

Still trembling, he made to shove his knife back into his belt but hesitated at the blood that caked both it and his hands. He considered the water before deciding against it: every horror movie he had ever watched flashed across his mind, as did the image of ghostly hands thrusting out of the water to drag him in.

It wasn't as ridiculous as it sounded. The 'end of days' had been too much for many and they had descended into lunacy. The realisation that things weren't as clear cut as that and that life still marched on had been too much for many more. The memory of gnarled hands forcing his shoulders and head under the water in a derelict swimming pool while the rest of his body flailed from the pool side still kept him awake some nights.

Ignoring the blood, the knife was replaced in his belt and he made an attempt to rub the worst of the blood on his hands onto the wall. He started to walk again, hunting for a way to the surface.

His steps didn't echo as he had expected them too. He guessed the dampened sound was owed to the invading fauna and other shit strewn around the tunnel. He paused at the words scrawled across the wall: 'God is GOOD!' The words had no doubt been a vibrant red before they had dried a few hours after being smeared on. He remembered reading about the supposed longevity of blood stains.

He started at a crashing sound. He froze, twisting to stair expectantly behind him. The sound came again, but he was confused to find it was from ahead of him rather than behind as he had expected. There was a thud.

Swallowing against his beating heart and against his better judgement, Mike gave in to his curiosity and ventured forward – he was less afraid of what was ahead than what remained behind and he wanted to see the sort of people who took refuge down here for himself. He remembered the rumours after the subways were closed, abandoned before things had gone to hell completely. Some said the people were insane or infected who wanted to save their loved ones from their fate before they lost the ability to decide for themselves. Others said they were merely the homeless looking for a safe(r) place to sleep.

His breath was coming in short pants that he battled to keep silent. He turned the corner and stilled to take in the scene in front of him.

There was a man on one knee in front of a vending machine, an arm reaching and searching inside of it. With a curse, he shifted to push closer to it until his face was pressed against the glass (luckily not facing Mike's direction) and his whole arm had disappeared. It would have been simpler to break the glass but Mike knew from experience that vending machines were tricky to break into and doing so made a lot of noise. He understood if the man had decided that this wasn't the best place to do that. Sitting on its haunches behind the man next to a well-used rucksack was a large, dark sable, long haired German shepherd. It was watching its master patiently; it's tailing swishing across the floor with its end slightly curled.

He turned his attention back to the man. He couldn't be looking for food – the food that had been there would have been raided years ago and even if there was any left, he doubted it was still edible. He swallowed a whimper when the man withdrew his arm and brought with him what he had actually been fishing for: bullets. With a satisfied chuckle, the man fed the bullets into the chamber of his revolver.

Mike shuffled back. _'Crack'_.

The dog looked up sharply at the almost inaudible sound of glass crunching under Mike's foot. Yellow brown eyes stared out at him in the darkness. The man hadn't heard the sound or noticed the change in his dog. It would have stayed that way had the dog not stood and started to growl. The man froze for a split second before snapping the chamber into place. One moment he was hunched over on one knee and the next he was stood, his bag over one shoulder and his gun held securely in both hands pointed blindly, but directly, at Mike. His voice was dark when he spoke.

"Step forward. Now." Mike didn't doubt he would shoot, not for second. But if he saw Mike as a non-threat, he might not. It was a gamble, "Don't make me ask again," his voice came out in a near growl to match that of his dog. Reluctantly, Mike stepped forward out of the darkness.

The man in front of him appeared to be in his late thirties. He was perhaps half an inch taller than Mike himself but his build was solid and wide compared to Mike's slimmer structure. He had fairly short, light brown hair which was a shade lighter than his beard which was longer and fuller than Mike's own. He had a wide, strong jaw and thin lips that tipped up at the corners despite his aggressive frown. His eyes were a warm brown colour and were currently hooded by his lowered brow. Mike's eyes lingered on the two moles above the stranger's left eye brow. He had to admit that the man currently pointing a loaded gun at him was handsome in a 'classic gentleman' kind of way. He wasn't being much of a gentleman now.

"Hold your hands out where I can see them," slowly, Mike moved to lift his hands. Brown eyes flicked to his hands and widened. The grip on the gun was redoubled and his voice was filled with scorn, "I really don't need one of you cannibal nuts today," Mike's stomach dropped at the sight of his hands, smeared with dried blood. Suddenly, the murky flood water wasn't looking so terrifying. Desperate, he held out pleading hands to the man in front of him.

"P-please!" he sneered, "I'm not-," fear strangled Mike's words before he could get them out. All he could do was shake his head, eyes flicking between the man and his snarling dog. Hope threatened when the man paused.

"Why are you down here?" he demanded. Trying to calm himself, Mike took a shaking breath.

"To escape. I was being chased,"

"And the blood?" his voice hardened and he jabbed his gun forward, indicating to Mike's out stretched hands.

"One tried to grab me. I stabbed him," the reality of his actions clawed at his stomach – he'd never been a fan of violence, "I ran away. Please don't, I just – ," his were rushed and shaky, "Please – don't shoot me. I'm just trying to find the next subway exit," he seemed to come to a decision, his gun never wavering.

"Walk past me and carry on. Make a move to come any closer to me than necessary and I will shoot you. Call out and I will shoot you. Try to grab something and I will shoot you. Linger and I will shoot you. Understand kid?" Mike nodded. At the man's gesture to move, he began his carefully chosen path around him and his gun and dog. He focussed as much on the man as the man focussed on him. He flinched when the German shepherd barked at him. Once past him, Mike resisted the urge to face the man for the whole of his retreat – he didn't need to trip and accidently startle the other into firing at him.

Fully expecting to be shot in the back, Mike walked with bated breath and shaking hands. He didn't turn to glance over his shoulder until he could no longer hear the dogs rumbling growl. The dog and its master were both out of sight. Relief oozed out of him and he had to take a moment to steady himself. He couldn't quite believe he was actually still alive and only a little battered. Now all he needed to do was find his way out of the subway and towards central park.

It took half an hour, but eventually he stumbled on an exit. Unlike the one he had entered by, the stairs of this entrance were pretty much obliterated leaving behind a jagged and uneven incline for him to traverse. It was only due to the adrenalin still pumping around his body that he was able to climb through the ache in his back and shoulders and the searing pain in his hands where he gripped sharp but luckily secure debris. According the signs he found on the surface he was on West 145th Street. He consulted his inner map of New York – the walk to Central Park would probably take just under an hour. He glanced at the sun in the sky: he could make that before dark.

He was lucky that he didn't encounter anyone or anything else on his journey to central park. Encounters with other people were uncommon and encounters with people who didn't want to hurt him were even rarer. On the surface, New York seemed to be deserted, but he knew from experience that it wasn't. Of the twenty million-ish people who had inhabited New York before, now he couldn't even guess how many remained. They were there though, hiding throughout the city from both each other and the wild animals that prowled the streets. Just as everything was falling apart, some nut jobs had thought it was a good idea to release the animals being held in zoos as well as the exotic animals being held in private collections. It brought both extra-food and extra-predation.

One time, he had thought he'd seen a cougar hiding in the long grass.

At central park, he startled a herd of horses that had been lazing by the side of the lake. As they cantered away, he heard an animal scream in pain, no doubt trampled beneath their hooves.

Wary, he carefully picked his way to the pool of water in his sights. He paused to untangle a riffle from the branches of a tree where he had hidden it three days before. His memory had been invaluable to him, allowing him to expertly hide supplies all around his usual haunts without ever forgetting where any of it was: he doubted he would have survived this long without it. He hesitated at the water's edge, carefully cataloguing his surroundings for danger. His eyes strayed to the cities slowly crumbling skyline. Most buildings were still standing but were in disrepair and covered in greenery. He knew though, that in the south of the state there was a patch of the skyline which was completely barren after a chain reaction had one building collapse and drag an innumerable amount more with it. The noise had woken Mike in the middle of the night. If this wasn't hell, he didn't know what was.

He sighed and ducked down to dip his hands into the cool water, watching dispassionately as the brown blood on his hands melted away into the water, turning it red.

His mind wandered aimlessly, to settle on brown eyes and thin lips.


	2. Fulcrum

AN: Wasn't going to upload this next chapter so soon but it was just sat there staring at me with puppy dog eyes while I edited the other chapters 0.0  
Ah jokes but seriously next chapter will probably be Thursday (or sooner if I get bored. Probably sooner then. What can I say! I have no restraint!).

* * *

**Chapter 2: Fulcrum**

_Twelve years ago_

"_Is this really necessary George?" his Grammy, though exasperated, was thoroughly amused by the antics of her husband. Knife and wood in hand, Mike glanced from his Grandfather to his Grandmother. His Grandfather gave a good natured scowl._

"_Of course it is! The boy needs to know how to survive in the wild!" her lips twitched._

"_But we don't live in the wild!"_

"_He needs to be prepared for anything!" George Ross had been deeply affected by the Cold War. The fear that everything he was used to being ripped from under him had led him to take survival course after survival course, determined to be the master of his environment, "I want to know that he can take care of himself!" Mike rolled his eyes, used to this 'argument'. He returned to whittling down the strip of wood in his hands into a usable arrow. Grammy chuckled._

"_One more hour!" she warned, "Then I want you both inside – I didn't make this pie just for it to go cold!" at the mention of pie, his grandfather agreed easily._

_They never changed._

* * *

_'Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.'_  
_- Lord Byron_

* * *

His arm was aching with the effort is took for him to cling onto the tree branch as he leant forward precariously, reaching for the apples hanging in the neighbouring tree. He could feel splinters threatening to dig into his palm. He released the breath he had been holding and snatched his arm back, an apple in hand. Satisfied, he shuffled back to sit comfortably in the natural cradle of the tree's branches and bite into the apple. He sighed as its sharp taste hit his tongue and juice dribbled down his chin. He'd spent the whole morning scavenging for fruit and vegetables and generally anything edible. He had a bag full of apples, carrots and pears, all courtesy of both central park and the occasional private vegetable patch. The best haul he'd gotten all year.

Central Park was like a jungle in the middle of the city. It was overgrown and gradually leaking out of its previous neat rectangle to reclaim the rest of New York. It was simultaneously the most resource rich and most dangerous area in (perhaps) the whole state. In the right months, food was abundant but so were predators (human and animal) and the dense fauna and long grass concealed all kinds of dangers. The water was just as bad. He knew from experience that somewhere in one of the many ponds and pools and lakes, there was at least one alligator lurking, waiting to strike. He'd never come so close to losing a hand before.

It had been a week since the subway incident (as Mike referred to it in his head) and he had only just gotten back enough motion in his shoulders to be able to climb a tree like this: his roll down the stairs hadn't done him any good. He couldn't help but keep an eye out for the man and his dog. It was sad and foolish, but Mike had been all alone for a long time, long enough to start dreaming about a man who had waved a gun in his face. Waved, but not fired: the existence of a person who hadn't tried to kill him reawakened his hope for some sort of human interaction.

Mike froze half way through taking a bite of his apple as something stirred in his peripheral vision. He carefully lowered the half eaten apple and swapped it for the crossbow he had hanging from a branch – it was one of two he had looted from a weapons store. He didn't use it often but it was fantastic for hunting.

Locking a bolt into place, he smoothly turned to seek out the source of movement. His interest peeked as he spotted a ginger cat or as he preferred to call it: dinner. Quickly as he dared, he slipped his bag onto his back and slid smoothly from the tree, his jacket catching on the bark but his eyes never leaving his quarry. His landing was near silent and he went unnoticed by the cat. Crouched as low as he could (pausing to breathe through the remaining ache in his back), he crept forward. Every step was calculated and hesitant, his eyes flicking constantly between the cat and the placement of his feet, calculating every next step. He swallowed a curse when the cat looked up, ears alert and tail held high. His hands clenched in frustration when the cat began to move. Luckily it seemed unconcerned.

He stalked closer until finally, he was hidden behind a tree while the cat (still ignorant of his presence) paused to groom itself. It was right out in the open on what had once been a walk way – god only knew how it had survived this long! He held back a triumphant smirk, and took aim. He took a deep breath, closed one eye and held the air in his lungs.

The cat flinched at the click of the trigger being pulled but it had no time to move, an arrow piercing its side and killing instantly with a low thud. Mike whooped under his breath, jubilant: a killing hit was a killing hit, even if he had been aiming for its throat. He darted out from behind the tree to scoop up his kill by its tail. He pulled at its skin, trying to assess how much of a meal the cat would make. It was lean and a little scrawny but it would do for a meal, maybe two if he was frugal in his portions. What he knew for sure was that, for tonight at least, he wouldn't be wanting for meat.

Slowly, the smile on Mike's lips slipped away. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and a shiver tingled down his spine. He could hear_ breathing -_ deep and ragged. He couldn't prevent his own breath from coming quick and shallow in his panic: he was vulnerable here. He'd put himself in exactly the same position as the cat he had been mocking mere moments ago as being stupid. _He could hear breathing. _He swallowed. There was a growl to his left. The world seemed to slow as his world narrowed to include only himself and the shadow in the corner of his eye.

He spun in time to smack the lunging timber wolf in the face with the cat in his hands so that its jaws where filling with it rather than his throat. The wolf, a mad look in its yellow eyes, snarled around the cat in its mouth and tried to advance closer despite the distraction. He let out a cry of pain as its claws caught his arm. He didn't have time to check if he was bleeding; as soon as he had turned around, another wolf was upon him. He faltered at the sight teeth, sharper than he liked the think about. But it was all he _could_ think about and they were all he saw when he caught the wolf around the head with his crossbow. He distantly recognised the sound of crunching bone and the choked whine of an animal in pain, before dropping everything in his hands and running.

He always seemed to be running. He was so tired of running all the _fucking_ time!

He yelped in pain as teeth sunk into the back of his ankle. The injury was enough to trip him. He tumbled to the ground and felt the skin of his hands rip on the ground. Without hesitation, his kicked his foot out and made solid contact with the head of the wolf that had bitten him – he couldn't count now whether there were two or three of them. Either way, if he didn't start moving it wouldn't matter.

His kick had stunned the wolf and gave him enough time to scramble to his feet, turn tail and run.

Running. Always running.

He fought through the panic threatening to cloud his mind. He needed a gun. But where! Where was his nearest gun…

He broke through the tree's onto the street (snarls at his back still, but he hadn't expected them to be so easily put off after all). Suddenly, his brain slipped back into gear and he knew where to go. He couldn't see it yet, but he knew the school was there, a fractured rainbow framing its entrance. Panicked tears threatened to blur his vision and he brushed them away hastily: he couldn't afford a distraction now.

He could see the school now: _it was so close_. He chanced a look over his shoulder only to wish he hadn't. There weren't two, or even three, there were five. The closest was by the far the largest; a black hulking beast of an animal with a bald snout and a missing ear. And he was gaining on Mike. Quickly. Four legs beat two every time. This was going to be a close one.

Mike ignored the schools front door and dived head first straight through the window third along to the right: the janitor's cupboard. Thrusting his hands in front of him, he managed to avoid cracking his head open on the floor. Standing, dazed, he had eyes only for the metal cabinet on the wall opposite him. His movements urgent, he threw a table blocking his path to the side and strove forward to the cabinet. He ignored the two grated doors and instead unzipped and dug into his pocket for the set of keys he kept on him at all times. He fumbled for the smallest of those keys, distracted by the noise outside.

Howls joined the deafening snarls at the window. Fingers shaking, he jabbed blindly at the lock in the top left hand corner, eyes focussed on window frame. Suddenly, there was a wolf in the window. Its legs were straddled awkwardly across the width of the window sill as it struggled to pull its self-up – it was the black wolf again. With a yelp, it slipped and fell out of the window. A moment passed and the wolf was back in the window, this time further forward. Mike cursed.

He jammed the keys into his mouth to free up his hands in order to scramble up on top of the cabinet (ignoring the burning in his skinned palms) where he fit snuggly between the cabinet top and the ceiling with barely enough room to breathe. He returned to his struggle with the lock.

"Come on! Please, please, please!" his near maniacal mantra was cut off by his pained gasp as strong jaws lunged up and nearly bit his fingers off. He heart plummeted: two of the wolves were in the room now. Teeth gritted in determination, he pulled his knife free and drove it down against the wolf that lunged up at him. He managed to skim the top of its head.

"FUCK OFF!" there was a clatter by the window – another wolf was in. Oh God, he couldn't die like this! After everything that had happened, after all the shit he'd been through, he was NOT going to be eaten by a pack of FUCKING WOVLES!

He twisted suddenly to thrust out his free hand and grab a wolf (this one was a pale grey) by the throat as it leapt up. He plunged his knife into its shoulder and threw it to the ground. Distracted by their fallen pack member, the wolves remained earth bound long enough for Mike to attempt to struggle with his key again. His blood slick hands only complicated things and his fingers couldn't find purchase on the smooth metal.

**BANG!**

There was a squealing, screaming howl from outside the window. Mike bit his lip, battling with his own anxiety to keep his hand steady. The wolves below him shrunk back against the noise.

**BANG! BANG!**

Finally, the key slid into the lock's barrel smoothly. His fingers faltered and slipped momentarily in his attempt to turn it. He was vaguely aware of someone new in the room: the wolves growls renewed. _Click._ He forced the draw open, thrust an arm inside and yanked the pistol he'd stored there free; in his haste, he skinned the underside of his arm on the sharp cabinet lip.

**BANG!**

A split second later, his own weapon discharged into the head of the pack leader.

The growling in the room stopped. The only sound that remained was his own deep and erratic breathing. His extended arm collapsed and his gun clattered against the cabinet door. He tore his eyes away from the wolf he had shot and down to the one he had stabbed. A gash separated its fur with a valley of red from above its shoulder, round to under its chin. Blood soaked both it and the carpet it lay upon. His gaze wondered to the wolf he _hadn't_ killed (brain and blood framing his misshapen head), then to the German shepherd that was sniffing at its flank and finally to the man stood beside it, hands clasped around a sawn-off shotgun. Brown eyes stared back.

The man from the subway.

His eyes were narrowed and focussed on Mike, ignoring the dog at his side and bloodied wolves around him. He seemed to be battling with himself, his eyes on Mike but occasionally flicking to the gun in his hands. Hesitantly, he raised the gun (Mike felt a lump stick in his throat _'Please don't shoot me…'_) up over his head and slid it in the holster on his back. He took a slow step forward, holding out an open hand. He scowled when Mike didn't take his offered hand.

"Listen kid, this is against my better judgement, but you aren't going to make it anywhere by yourself right now," he nodded at Mike's bleeding ankle, "You telling me you're going to be able to run away from anything with that? And your arm – what are you going to do if it gets infected hu?" Mike snorted in disbelief.

"And what if it does – are you saying you're gonna' take care of me or something? Well excuse me if I doubt you're here just to play at being the Good Samaritan," a reluctant smile spread across the other's face, though it was less a smile and more a grimace.

"You little cynic you. You want to know why I'm offering to help?" Mike nodded, "Because you're the first person I've come across in over four years who hasn't tried to do me some kind of harm. You're still holding a gun – you could shoot me and run if you wanted to, but you haven't," curling into himself, Mike sniffed, "I'm not saying we should become best buddies or some sort of crap like that, 'cause I sure as shit don't trust you,"

"Likewise," his mutter went ignored.

"But it would be nice to know that there is one person in this city I could say hello to in the morning without being shot in the face for my trouble. And it would give us both an advantage – pooling resources or some shit like that," he rolled his eyes when his hand still went ignored, "If it makes you feel better, if you do get an infection, I'll be dropping your ass as soon you become a hindrance " oddly, that did make him feel better. Careful to avoid the blood on his hands, Mike rubbed at his eye with the back of his wrist. He looked down at the dog that was in turn, staring back.

"What's your dog's name?"

"She's called Annie. And I'm Harvey," finally, Mike took the offered hand and allowed Harvey (it felt odd to attach a name to this person) to pull him over the body of the wolf at the bottom of the cabinet and down to the ground, an arm ready to brace him should he fall. He had to fight not to pull away – it had long been ingrained in his mind that touch was a bad thing. Gingerly, he put weight onto his injured ankle and was relieved to find he could hold himself up. He couldn't help but feel a little skittish when he met Harvey's eyes. Pushing his gun into the waistband of his jeans, he swallowed.

"I'm Mike."


	3. Bravery or Stupidity?

AN: Thursday? Did I say Thursday? Pfft, like that was ever going to happen .  
Currently writing the very last chapter - I know what I want to write and the idea I'm trying to express, but I'm not sure it's going so well :/ Dang it! Re-write time!  
Thank you to anyone who has left a review btw! I really really appreciate it! Hearts and kisses and what not!  
Pretty sure the next chapter will actually be on Thursday but we've already established that I'm an impulsive liar so who know's.

I'm feeling as well I should change the genre: suggestions?

Finally! Things I can't write: dialogue. I'll apologise now :sigh:

* * *

**Chapter 3: Bravery or Stupidity?**

_Four years, six months ago_

"_Mike. Michael, are listening to me?" his grandmother's voice was weak but determined. She was lying in her bed, propped up by innumerable pillows while her grandson sat hunched over, his elbows on her bed and his head bowed. The care facility she had called home for the last year was empty but for them. Some of the residents had been moved by relatives but the majority had died, either from the sudden loss of proper care or simply from the stress of the situation they found themselves in. The carers had been gone two weeks. They were with their own families now. Mike couldn't blame them – nobody expected them to stay in the circumstances. Grammy was his responsibility, not theirs. "Michael!" he sighed._

"_I'm listening Grammy,"_

"_No, you're not!" her voice broke with her frustration, "Look at me!" as difficult as it was for him, he did as she asked. It was hard to see her like this, pale and weak. She was panting and wheezing with the effort it took for her to breathe. Her skin was waxy and more wrinkled than he ever remembered it being. She looked _old. _She didn't have much time left now. "I love you, you know that don't you Michael?" tears burned behind his eyes – he tried to ignore them._

"_And I love you," his voice was thick with emotion._

"_And because you love me, my dear, I need you to leave me now," he sat up, shaking his head and protesting, "No. You have to leave," tears were falling thick and fast._

"_No, I want to stay with _you._ Don't you want me to stay?" her smile was sad._

"_Of course I want you to stay sweetie. But I also want you to survive. Every moment you spend sitting here, at my side while I waste away, is a moment lost to prepare. Everyone else out there, they have a head start on you now – don't let them get any further ahead! Are you hearing me?" unable to speak, hands grasping at the blanket over her lap, his head bowed, he felt a hand on his neck, "I am dying Mike and there is nothing you can do for me now," a sob escaped him._

"_N-no, please," his voice was shaking, "You c-can't leave me all a-alone,"_

"_You won't be alone – you have Trevor, and Jenny too. You won't be alone," the more he tried to stop himself, the harder he cried. He couldn't bear to tell her about Trevor and Jenny. Not now._

"_Please…,"_

"_No Michael. Give me one last kiss goodbye, then leave and don't look back," sluggishly, he pushed himself to his feet. Carefully, he leant forward and pressed a kiss to her cold cheek. Steeling himself, he stood and turned, unable to look her. He hesitated at her room's door, hoping to be called back. At her silence, he stepped out into the hallway and carefully closed the door behind him._

_He knew he would never see her again._

* * *

_'Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival'. –_  
_C. S. Lewis_

* * *

He and Harvey had been cohabiting for nearly three months now, though Mike only ever really saw the other man late at night and early in the morning. Sometimes they shared supper but it was a very rare occasion.

The place Harvey had brought him to (a three story house, small but not tiny with three bedrooms, a tiny garden and an (unexplored) attic) was surprisingly nice. It was definitely better than the occasional dank mattress/soft patch of ground he'd been dealing with. Originally though, Mike hadn't intended to stay at all. He figured he'd move into one of the other buildings nearby but, when it had come to the point where his injuries were healed enough that he could fend for himself, he just didn't leave. If he was honest, he hadn't really wanted to. It was nice to have a home to come back to rather than just a random building he had chosen for the night. The house was well maintained for one (especially the numerous bolts placed on both the front and back doors) and as clean as possible given the circumstances.

It was Harvey, if anything, that he had had to accustom himself too before he felt comfortable in the house. Harvey was, at a word, hard. He had a feeling that Harvey was beginning to regret ever asking Mike to come with him - not because Mike was a burden but simply because he had become accustomed to being alone. He still looked surprised and vaguely disgruntled when he saw Mike in the mornings. But he was not unkind and living with him was not unbearable by any standards and unless Harvey made him, Mike wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.

Right now, Mike was about half a mile from home, a riot shotgun slung over his shoulder. He'd planned on hunting but he'd had little success – he'd grazed a dear but it hadn't gone down. There was only about two hours of sunlight left and there was no point hanging around in the streets (where it was dangerous) for much longer when there was little chance of any pay off. He'd been in the middle of a day dream involving steak when he rounded a street corner only to be jolted out of it by uproarious laughter. He flinched and ducked back the way he had come. Quietly, he slipped closer to the corner building and peered out into the crossroads.

"What do we have here?" Mike shivered at the dark responding chuckles. A group of six convened in a rough circle, five men and a woman. The man who had spoken had his back to Mike, a gun hanging loosely in his hands. All Mike could see of him really was his bald tattooed head. The woman was sat in the lap of a black man with long dread-locks on an abandoned car, giggling at whatever he was whispering into her ear as he stroked a hand up her thigh. Two of the other men (blonde twins with skin so waxy they could have been mannequins) were stood three foot apart, chains in hand as they laughed cruelly at the snarling dog between them. A dog he recognised. Annie. They held the chains around her neck in such a way, that when she tried to lunge at one of her captors, the chain of the other would tighten and choke her.

Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he feared he'd see. He opened his eyes. The final man (ginger with both ears missing) of the group was stood behind an additional sixth man who Mike hadn't initially seen .He was on his knees, a gun nudging his head to the side. The man was Harvey.

Mike had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a cry of despair – for the first time in years, he had someone he could (loosely, oh so very loosely) call a friend of sorts, and now he was about to be shot in the head?! Harvey's eye was swollen and his top lip was cut and bleeding. He had a face like thunder, disdain practically dripping from the glare he focussed on the bald man. He didn't look scared – if anything he just looked pissed. Mike winced when he kicked back at the man with the gun to his head. Mike could understand defiance, but Harvey was cutting it close to suicidal.

He glanced behind him at the door of the corner shop he was hiding by. Silently, he crept back and pushed carefully against the door. He held his breath, begging the door to open, and to do so quietly. It stuck for a moment, before giving way with a little (and thankfully silent) jolt. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Finally, he breathed.

Ducking down below the window line, he crept forward through the isles to the back door.

"SHUT UP!" Mike faltered at the rage filled scream, his careful creep becoming somewhat more hasty and panicked – Harvey was such an _idiot_. The door opened out into a small ally way which connected out onto the street. The ladder for the fire escape hung a few feet away, rusted into place. Gritting his teeth, he leapt from the ground and grabbed hold of the lowest rung. He silently prayed for the rust to hold up as he dragged himself up its length, grunting with exertion. For once, he was glad for the fact he was teetering near being underweight – if he'd have been just a few pounds heavier, he didn't think he could have made it to the top.

Pressure in his brow pressed down heavily on his eyes and nose – now was not the time to get a stress headache! He eyed the apartment window in front of him dubiously as he felt his way around its edge, searching for a place to lift from. He hooked his fingers under the windows corners and _pulled_. Frustration increased the pressure in his head when the window didn't move. Smashing it was, regrettably, not an option.

His gaze sought out the next flight of stairs in the fire escape only to find half of the steps missing. He cursed, panicked further by the laughter and jeers he could hear. There was no other choice for it.

Driven by his goal, Mike crouched down and crept forward to where the fire escape ended at the corner of the building. It gave him a clear view of the street below but absolutely no cover short of throwing himself down the ladder again. He'd be banking on his own ability to shoot quickly and precisely and the group below to being unable to do the same: it was a gamble, but one he had to take.

The gun's barrel was too wide fit through the close bars leaving him with little other option but to stand. He took a deep calming breath and, pulling his gun into his shoulder, braced himself and took careful aim at the earless man. He closed an eye, held his breath and –

He fired, the noise nearly deafening him. Earless went down. Expelling the spent shells, he turned smoothly to focus on Baldy. Staring down the barrel of the gun, he found Baldy doing the same. He resolutely ignored the sound of a bullet whirring past his ear as he pulled his own trigger. It took two shots to take the man down. There were more gunshots now, some coming closer to him than others and some not being aimed at him at all. Starting to panic now despite his efforts, he shot at one of the twins (the other was already on the ground, his neck between Annie's jaws) only for the bullet to go wide and into the ground.

Mike yelped and stumbled backwards, pain searing across his cheek and ear. He clutched his face, breathing heavily, trying desperately to fight through his own shock. Gritting his teeth in determination (gun shots still echoing in his ears), he hauled himself onto his stomach and made to clamber up to his knees. At a gunshot from below him, Mike cried out and shuffled back frantically. The black man was below, baring yellow teeth at him in a viscous snarl.

"You little SHIT!" he cocked his gun (Mike held his breath) and fired at Mike again, but the bullet ricocheted off the brick wall by Mike's head. The gun was swung over the man's shoulder as he made for the ladder, "I'm gonna nail you to the ground and peel your FUCKING SKIN OFF!" Mike's breath came quick and fast with his panic. He lunged forward for his gun, hands shaking. The man let out a grunt as he jumped and grabbed hold of the ladder. It creaked under his weight.

Finally, _finally,_ the gun was in his hands. He stumbled forwards to peer over the man as he pulled himself up the ladder – he froze. Mike distractedly wiped away the blood in the corner of his eye, aimed, and fired.

_Click._

The look of fear in the man's eyes gave way to a grin, malicious and wide. _Oh god no._ The man was openly laughing at him now as he struggled with his gun. Hysteria had him by the throat, its grip vice like – he could barely breathe, shoving a hand into his pocket, searching for ammo. The man began his assent again, the ladder creaking with his every movement. He was only a foot from the top now.

Mike fought his instinct to back away and instead surged forwards. On his knees and leaning over the man, he swung his gun down with all the strength he could muster. The man cried out in pain, his grip faltering on the ladder rungs. Mike made to hit him again, but there was no need. The screech of bending metal was almost deafening. One moment, the man was struggling to hold on, and the next he was on his back in the ally, swearing and yelling, shoving the ladder off of him. He never got to stand up though. A final echoing gunshot, a bullet wound to the head and he didn't move again.

All Mike could hear now was his own breathing and his heart beat reverberating in his ears. His shaking legs refused to hold his weight any longer and he collapsed to his knees, his gun hanging loosely in his hands. Unable to help himself, he braced himself on the wall and leant over to stare to down at the black man who, only moments ago, had been intent on killing him. He was staring back up at him, his eyes half open with a dribble of blood running across them.

"Mike?" the cry was hesitant and unsure, "Mike are you okay?" it took him three attempts to get his words out.

"Yeah," he hated the way his voice faltered at the end. He swallowed, "Y-yeah. I'm fine,"

"Stay where you are for a moment and I'll come get you," Mike hated the presumption that he somehow needed saving but if he was honest, he didn't think he could move right now if he tried.

He hated it - this culture of kill or be killed. He'd been living this way for years but it never got any easier. He'd never become hardened or used to the violence and some days he wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. He was glad that he could still appreciate the value of human life but he hated that his lingering conscience came with a constant struggle to retain his own sanity.

Annie appeared below him, limping slightly as she sniffed at the dead body. Amber eyes peered up at him – at the sight of him, her tag gave a small wag. Harvey appeared after her, his arms and back laden with new bags and more weapons. He ducked down to slip the knife from the dead man's waist and secure it to his own belt. He followed Annie's line of sight. Spotting Mike, he let the bags drop to the ground. His eyes stared at the line of blood that dribbled down the side of Mike's face and into his lap.

"Are you okay?" a chocked laugh of disbelief escape him. Bruises were blossoming across Harvey's chin and right cheek. He had a split lip and dried blood was matted in his hair.

"You just had a gun pressing up against your skull, and you're asking me if _I'm_ okay?" Harvey ignored his slightly hysterical tittering laughter, "Yeah Harvey, I'm just _fine,"_

Harvey's eyes flicked to the fallen ladder.

"Can you get down?" Mike didn't bother answering. Instead, he pitched forwards to prop himself up on the fire escape floor so he could carefully begin to lower himself down where the ladder had previously been. His arms shook with the exertion of holding himself up. Bracing himself, he let go. He nearly toppled backwards but strong arms caught him before he could. Harvey pushed him to his feet, gingerly turning him to face him. A steadying hand remained on his back.

"Are you okay?" too tired to speak, he merely nodded. Pressing a bag and a loaded gun into Mike's hands, Harvey picked up the bags that remained before saying, not unkindly, "Let's move."

* * *

**Chapter 3.5 – Patch me up**

_'One must always maintain one's connection to the past and yet ceaselessly pull away from it.'_  
_- Gaston Bachelard_

Harvey's hands were firm but strangely hesitant as he pushed Mike down onto a stool at the kitchen's breakfast bar. A hand closed around Mike's chin, turning his head to the side so that Harvey could peer closely at the wound to the side of his head. The bullet had created a shallow groove level with Mike's right eye and had taken the top of his ear as well. Harvey's sigh was a blast of warm air on his cheek.

"Stay here," the grip on his chin disappeared, as did Harvey. He heard the sound of boots pounding up the stairs. Alone in the kitchen, save for Annie who was curled up to the side of the back door, he absorbed his surroundings.

He saw this room every morning and every evening, but usually he left and arrived while it was still dark. It was strange to see it in the fading daylight. His eyes wondered to the window above the sink and the garden beyond it; he slid down from the stool and moved to press himself against the back door. Taking a breath, he pushed the netted curtain aside and peered out into the garden. Hesitating for a moment, he turned the key in the door (Annie mewled from his feet and gathered her feet beneath her to stand) and let it swing open with a gentle creak. Annie slipped past him and moved to sniff eagerly at everything in sight before rolling onto her back in the middle of the grass and settling there. Mike closed the door behind him, eyeing the swing sofa that sat on the decking. He tugged the cover free and was surprised to find the cushions were both intact and pretty clean (if faded). He lowered himself to sit down and pulled his legs up to his chest. It was with a weary sigh that he set his head down on his knees.

The next thing he was aware of was Harvey's hand, heavy and warm on his shoulder as he sat down beside him; he must have briefly nodded off.

"I told you to stay where you were," Harvey muttered, disapproval in his voice, tugging Mike's chin over to him. Mike hissed under his breath as Harvey pressed a cloth to his face, wiping his skin clean of the blood that had dried there, "You don't talk very much, do you?" Harvey commented at Mike's lack of response, continuing to manhandle his face.

"I don't have very much to say," Harvey gave a small chuckle.

"I don't believe that for a second – sorry," Mike had yanked away with a yelp when Harvey accidently leant his hand against his injured ear, "Sorry, come here," reluctantly, Mike allowed Harvey to draw his head closer again. He couldn't help but stare at the man's face as he produced a small bandage and a roll of medical tape. Mike knew Harvey had about ten first aid kits stashed away in his room. Harvey's eyes flicked to his and away again.

"What?" he shook his head and looked away but Harvey was undeterred, "Are you scared of me kid?" Mike scoffed and immediately regretted it. He coughed sheepishly at Harvey's raised eyebrows, "You think I couldn't hurt you?" Mike was suddenly conscious of the large hands on his face and Harvey's dark tone.

"I know you could… but I don't think you would,"

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

"Because you haven't,"

Harvey snorted, "That doesn't mean anything," he said, tearing a strip of tape free with his teeth and securing part of the bandage to Mike's face, "So if you're not scared of me, why are you so damn skittish?" Mike opened his mouth but found himself without an answer to give; Harvey gave a rueful smile at the persisting silence and muttered under his breath, "You _really_ don't say much," brown eyes refocused on the task at hand. No longer under the others scrutiny, Mike found it in him to try again.

"I was thinking, I mean I – I was wondering what sort of person you used to be," Harvey stared at him, "Before all this," a vague wave accompanied his nervous mumble. Harvey rubbed a hand over his face leant away from Mike, back in to his seat. A sanguine Annie emerged from the grass and with little consideration for Harvey's legs (which were extended across the edge of the seat), she jumped up and curled up on the middle seat, her head pressed against Mike's side and tail flicking idly in Harvey's lap. Harvey eyed him.

"What made you wonder that?" Mike shrugged, an upwards twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"Why wouldn't I wonder about the person I live with?" Mike frowned at the look of surprise on Harvey's face, "What?"

"I guess we do live together, don't we," Harvey rubbed a hand against his beard covered jaw. Mike allowed himself a small smile, hesitating before burying his fingers in Annie's coat – it was the first time he had touched her.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"You haven't asked one," Harvey correctly pointed out.

"Fine then: what did you used to do? Before everything went to shit?" Annie mewled at his side.

"I was a lawyer,"

"Really?" the exclamation surprised all three of them and he stumbled to explain himself, "It's just, I dreamt of being a lawyer when I was a kid – since I was about eleven,"

"Seriously?" his tone was dubious, "From eleven?"

"What's wrong with that?" Mike said defensively in response to Harvey's low, disbelieving chuckle.

"It's just, well, what eleven year old wants to be a lawyer?"

"Me, okay?" the corners of Harvey's mouth curled into a smile.

"Well I suppose I've learnt one thing about you today,"

"What?" curiosity crept into his voice.

"You were one _strange _child – don't most kids want to play football or become famous actors?"

"Well maybe I wasn't 'most kids'," Harvey quirked an eyebrow at his uneven tone but otherwise made no comment. They considered one another quietly for a moment before Mike finally looked away, painfully aware that Harvey's eyes were still on him. Mike stared resolutely at Annie who was mouthing absentmindedly at his hand.

"How old _are_ you?" Harvey asked suddenly, startling an answer out of Michael.

"Twenty-four," Harvey groaned.

"Oh Jesus you make me feel old!"

"Why?" Mike asked curiously, "How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight – I think, maybe thirty-nine,"

"You think?" Harvey scowled at Mike's incredulous tone.

"Keeping an accurate calendar hasn't exactly been up there with my priorities kid,"

Silence fell between them yet again.

It occurred to him suddenly that this was the first time he and Harvey had spoken more than a hand full of words to one another. It was… nice, in a strange novel sort of way. Where he would have expected the quiet between them to be awkward, instead it was almost companionable. For Mike, just being near another person was enough for now and he felt the need to comment on his appreciation of Harvey's presence.

"I'm glad I'm not alone anymore," Harvey eyes snapped to his face, "I know we don't really know one another or… or really say anything at all to one another but I just wanted you to know," he met the others gaze with some difficulty, "I'm glad that you asked me to stay," the other's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.

"I suppose I am as well – glad, I mean. Especially after today," he paused, "I'm glad I didn't blow your head off the first time we met come to think of it," a surprised laugh escaped Mike at Harvey's frank admission. Annie grumbled at the sudden noise and Harvey's eyes warmed minutely with amusement.

"Yeah," Mike chuckled, "That definitely would have put a dampener on things," shaking his head indulgently, Harvey pushed himself to his feet and held the back door open for both Mike and Annie to venture inside so he could lock out the encroaching darkness of night.

"Come on wise guy; let's sort your ear out inside."


	4. The Lilo to my Stich

AN: I don't feel I've been clear enough with warning this: Don't expect Mike and Harvey to swan off into the sunset.

Next chapter will be either Sunday or Monday!

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Lilo to my Stitch**

_Four years and ten months ago_

_Trevor's eyes were dark and hard, burning with his frustration and fury. His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles were white and cracking as he held them resolutely at his sides though their occasional twitch made Mike doubt his self-control. Mike stared back, his shoulders hunched in defeat and angled away from Trevor. He was anxiously ringing his hands, his eyes flicking between the near-snarling Trevor and an equally anxious Jenny who had her hands bunched into her hair (a nervous habit she had developed)._

"_I'm not changing my mind," Mike's voice was soft but resolute. This wasn't the first time they had had this argument but Mike could tell it would be the last. Trevor's jaw twitched as he restrained himself from speaking. It looked almost painful when he final unlocked his jaw to let out his response. His voice was low and shaking with exertion as he tried to control himself._

"_How can you say that?" unable to keep staring into Trevor's accusing eyes, Mike made to close his eyes and turn his head but Trevor's sharp reprimand stopped him, "No! Don't you dare look away from me now Mike!" his voice was a dark growl filled with a promise of violence Mike had never heard from Trevor before. Reluctantly, Mike maintained his gaze, "You have to leave her Michael – you _have to_!" Mike was shaking his head before the other could finish._

"_No," he said sharply, "I will not leave her," Trevor sneered in disgust, "She wouldn't leave me!"_

"_Michael – she would want you to go. Do you really thing your Grandmother would want you to throw away your life for her?" he had no answer, "You have to leave with us Mike. This place had gone to hell – we can't stay any longer! You have to accept that Mike!"_

"_I don't have to accept anything," Mike grimaced – even to his own ears he sounded like a petulant child_

"_Mi-,"_

"_I will not abandon her!" Mike's voice teetered on a shout, "We've had this conversation every day for the past month and nothing has or will change my mind Trevor! I'm not leaving her! She's all that I have!"_

"_But Mike…" Jenny ventured forward hesitantly, her hands loosening their grip in her hair, "You have us too – me and Trevor," she glanced back at Trevor, seeking support but finding him too far gone to be of any help, "We're your family too. She'd want you to leave for safety with us – you know she would," a soft hand reached up to cradle his cheek and Mike leant against the affectionate presence, "Please leave with us, we don't want to leave you behind," the unsaid words 'but we will' lingered in the air between them. Reluctantly, Mike pulled away from her touch._

"_I-," he swallowed, "I'm sorry," his whisper was almost a sob, "I can't leave her," Trevor's patience snapped. Letting out an animalistic growl he lunged forward and landed a punch on Mike's cheek, knocking him to the ground. Jenny jumped back with a cry and the look in Trevor's eyes said he regretted it immediately. He lurched forward again, this time to gather a dazed and crying Mike into his arms and bury his face into his neck._

"_Why can't you just run away with us – please Mikey," his voice broke as he mumbled into the other's skin, "We're a family, we stick together," slowly, Mike's arms came up to hold Trevor to him. He whispered mournfully into his ear:_

"_I'm sorry." Trevor's grief filled groan almost broke Mike's resolve as the elder collapsed against him and pulled him fully against his body. Trevor's fingers tangled in Mike's hair and pulled his head over so Trevor could press an almost violent kiss against his hair and then against his cheek and finally his temple. Without another word, Trevor had released him and was out of Mike's apartment and down the stairs._

_Jenny lingered a moment, her gaze regretful and longing before she turned tail and followed after Trevor. _

_Mike clung to the leg of his table, anchoring himself in place as he fought the urge to run after them._

* * *

_'Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.'_  
_- C. S. Lewis_

* * *

Filled with a kind of morbid fascination, Mike peered closely at himself in the mirror as he carefully ran his finger over the now flattened top of his ear. It was the first time he had seen his ear sans bandage for weeks and weeks (every time he thought it was heeled, he caught it and opened it again or went and got himself an infection) but it was finally healed enough to be left exposed. It was worse than he remembered; almost the whole top half of his ear missing. He winced at a sting of pain - though no longer bleeding, it was still sensitive.

"Stop messing with it," Mike scowled in the mirror at Harvey's warning reprimand, "You'll just make it sore again," Mike rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to find Annie sitting dutifully still while Harvey diligently brushed her thick fur: she was malting and leaving fur everywhere. Things had… changed between them. For one, they never went out the house without one another anymore – without exception. Harvey was very firm on this point: he'd given Mike such a look when he suggested them separating that he hadn't bothered bringing up the point again. But more than that, Mike felt less like he was living with and being tolerated by a stranger and more like he was living with and enjoying the company of a friend. It was novel.

He turned back to the mirror and began examining the right side of his face from every conceivable angle, curious about his new profile. He let out a despondent sigh. Harvey appeared at his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

"Lamenting the loss of half my ear – don't laugh!" Harvey held up his hands defensively, the annoyance in his eyes giving way to quiet amusement.

"Who's laughing?"

"You are," Mike grumbled under his breath. He leant back from his reflection with a sigh, "I miss my ear,"

"You're an idiot, you know that don't you?" Mike ignored him as he swung his rucksack up on to his back and secured his knife at his waist. He wandered vaguely away from the mirror and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Where's my gun?"

"On the side,"

"Which side? Oh! Never mind, got it!" he stuffed the handgun into his waist band and reappeared in the living room to find Harvey waiting for him with his arms folded over his chest.

"You ready now princess?" Harvey sniped, blowing out the candle on the mantel piece and swinging his rifle into his hands.

"Snarky much – yes, I'm ready," systematically he and Harvey set about putting out the candles that had illuminated their living room in the early morning darkness. Now however, the sun was just peeking over the back gate and creeping across the living room floor and the candles had been rendered redundant.

Standing at the houses front door with Harvey in front of him working through the many locks and Annie swaying with nervous energy, Mike felt the usual coil of anticipation building in his stomach that came with leaving the house in the morning. The house was sanctuary: it was a precious place of sanity in an insane world and the only place Mike ever felt even remotely safe. The act of leaving it every morning was a necessary act but one he dreaded. It was only now that he had a comparison that he could see the horrors of New York for what they truly were.

The last lock un-done, Harvey craned his neck round and his eyes met Mikes, "Ready?" silent, Mike nodded. Carefully, Harvey pulled the door open and peered out intently: at his feet, Annie did the same, her ears pricked forwards and nose twitching. Gun raised to his shoulder, Harvey ventured out into the sunrise. Loyal as ever, Annie followed him to the doors threshold where she stopped and waited for further instruction. Harvey was in the street now, peering carefully up and down. Finally satisfied, he nodded. As if compelled by a retracting cord, his dog was by his side in an instant. Mike followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to place a door stop just at the edge of the door and to trap a piece of paper in the door before he locked it: precautions so they didn't come home to a surprise. The whole process was almost ritualistic to Mike now and it felt wrong and unsafe to not follow every step.

Harvey still had his gun clasped safely in his hands as they walked together while Annie ventured a few feet ahead of them. Strangely, Mike felt more comfortable not having a gun his hands. He had no doubt Harvey knew this and Mike was desperately grateful that the other never asked him to hold one when they went out like this.

They stopped their silent walk after about an hour when Harvey spotted a building he liked the look of: Harvey was always the one to decide which building they went into and Mike had never had a problem with this (someone had to decide after all) until now. He recognised this place.

"This seems promising," Harvey eyed the building and the sign that stood in front of it critically, "Lots of residents, lots of rooms," he mused out loud, "Gotta' have supplies on hand if you're housing the elderly – first aid kits on mass," the usual trickle of amusement at Harvey's preoccupation with first aid kits didn't come like it usually did, "Mike?"

"Mm?" it was with much effort that Mike tore his eyes from the faded words 'Evergreen Nursing Home' on the sign that stood at the road side. Looking to Harvey, he found the older man was already half way to the homes front door, a concerned frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" steeling himself, Mike shook his head and joined Harvey.

"Nothing," Harvey's response was a disbelieving raised eyebrow but he let it slide. It was with one last glance behind him that Harvey opened the double doors into the foyer. Mike reluctantly followed, tugging his gun free and holding it warily.

The gust of wind that followed them kicked the thick layer of dust on nearby surfaces up into the air as a chocking, toxic cloud that whooshed forwards before being sucked back into their faces by the closing door. Mike reeled backwards and Harvey went into a sneezing fit that made Annie start at his side. Fighting to get his breath, Mike tried to rub the dust from his eyes but only managed to make his eyes burn more. Giving up, he left his eyes to stream tears down his cheeks and concentrated on trying to stop coughing. A hand was on his back, patting him weakly. Mike met Harvey's equally pained and reluctantly amused gaze.

"You okay champ?" Harvey's face was covered in dust except for tear tracks across his cheeks – Mike expected he looked much the same. He nodded and waved off Harvey's concern with a weak glare, sinking carefully to the floor to catch his breath. Harvey followed him down to a squat, reaching up a hand to wipe across his forehead. Mike looked up at Harvey's snort, "You're filthy!"

"You're not exactly clean either," to prove his point, Mike swiped his hand across Harvey's cheek and wiggled his dust covered fingers. Harvey wrinkled his nose before pushing himself to his feet and peering around at their surroundings, suddenly wary, "It doesn't look like this place has been touched in years!" looking up, Mike could only conclude that Harvey was right.

Everything was as he had left it nearly five years ago. In his mind's eye he layered his five year old but still perfectly accurate memory over the image he saw in front of him. It was like a game of spot the difference and Mike could see only two: the abundance of dust and ceiling fan that at some point had crashed into the floor.

"I'd say you were about right," Mike muttered under his breath, pushing himself to his feet to follow Harvey who was carefully leading Annie around the glass and in the direction of the residents' rooms, "So what's the plan?" he was glad that his voice sounded more normal than he felt: this place had an over whelming feeling of _wrongness_ to it, a feeling so strong it was almost palpable against his skin. Harvey glanced back at him, a contemplative frown on his face. He paused at the door to the stairwell. With his face dusty and streaked, Harvey looked to Mike like a member of some Amazonian tribe who had painted himself in preparation for war; the image was fitting with the gun that rested in his hands and the tense set to his shoulders.

"I think we'll be safe to split up: no sign anyone else has been here. I'll take the upstairs okay?" Harvey paused, pondering, "Annie will go with you," Mike couldn't hide his surprise and even Annie seemed confused (a ridiculous notion): Annie always went with Harvey.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want you safe," his hard tone left no room argument and Mike was too dumbstruck to pose one. With a prod in her hind quarters from Harvey, Anne trotted obediently to his side though the look she cast over her shoulder was almost betrayed. Harvey jabbed a finger at her, "You. Guard," his eyes flicked to Mike, "Stay down here, I'll come find you when I'm done," with that, Harvey disappeared into the stairwell.

Mike let out a shuddering breath and collapsed back against the wall to steady himself. He couldn't be here. Memories were crashing against him in unrelenting waves and he found himself cursing his perfect recall. It had hurt to leave and it hurt even more to come back. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from calling out to Harvey and begging him to leave now. _He could not be here._ She was still here somewhere (not somewhere, he _knew _where) and though he knew she was dead, the prospect of her cadaver before him wearing her clothes and lying in her bed was more than he could handle.

He was tempted to stay right there and wait for Harvey to come back but he knew it wasn't an option. It was with a feeling of resigned numbness that he set about exploring his grandmother's old home. The rooms were as the residents had left them and any dust voids that told of hastily grabbed personal items were long since gone. There wasn't much of any great value except for a revolver he'd found stashed in an underwear drawer and a few luxury items (shampoo and body wash mainly): he took everything he could fit in his bag.

Without really meaning too, he found himself at his grandmother's door, though he knew there was nothing of use in there. A lump of emotion caught suddenly in his throat, trapping his breath in his lungs and spreading down to wrap an iron fist around his heart. He pressed a hand against his mouth to smoother the gut-wrenching sob that was threatening to break free as guilt consumed him: he'd left her. After all she had done and all she had sacrificed, when it came down to it he had abandoned her to save his own worthless skin. She had died alone and that was on him. He let out a shuddering breath, allowing his hand to fall from his face.

"Mike?" Mike flinched and a sent a startled look over his shoulder, "Are you okay?" he considered the concerned look on Harvey's face. Unable to hold eye contact with the other man for any longer, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"No," he bit out, "I –," he swallowed, "I'm not – I'm sorry,"

"There's no need to be sorry," the depth of sincerity in Harvey's voice was almost enough for Mike to believe him, "What's wrong?" Mike forced out an answer before he could think about it.

"My grandmother – sh-she-," he sucked in a breath, "This was her room," silence followed his admission, "I – I, she made me, I left her. I wanted to stay, but -," buried under five years of regret, his words didn't come easily. Thankfully, Harvey seemed to understand.

"Ah," a hand slid over his shoulder and carefully pulled him around into a warm but brief embrace. He felt Harvey make a conscious effort to relax against him as if he wanted to give comfort but wasn't entirely comfortable doing so. Harvey squeezed his waist before carefully stepping away, hands falling to his sides. He scrutinised the stony look on Mike's face, "Do you want to go inside?" vehemently Mike shook his head and took a deliberate step away from the door, refusing to look at it, "Do you want me to go inside?" he shook his head again, "She must have loved you very much," Mike's reaction came slowly as though he was wading through water to find an answer to give Harvey. Finally, he gave a deep and heavy sigh.

"Yes. Yes she did. She raised me: she was my only family," his voice caught on the end of his sentence and he stared determinedly at the floor, unable to look at Harvey.

"If she was anything like you, she must have been a brilliant woman," Mike's responding chuckle was more than a little wet. He nodded weakly, a ghost of a smile twitching to life on his lips, "You're not alone though now," he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "We're kind of a family right?" Harvey seemed to consider his own words, as though he wasn't sure himself, "I mean, we have a home together and I try to take care of you and- and keep you safe. I'd never let anyone hurt you. Never," he was firm about this point, losing his uncertainty, "We aren't blood related and we haven't known each other that long, but we are a family,"

"Yeah, we're kind of a family," Harvey looked pleased with Mike's agreement, squeezing his wrist briefly.

"We're family," he reiterated, "And I'm not going anywhere that you're not,"

Mike wanted to believe.


	5. There's no Me, Without You

**AN:** So its a lovely sunny Sunday here in merry old England and I have spent the entire day inside a supermarket -_- work falls on such terrible days!

Hope you enjoy this chapter :) Next update will be Wednesday or Thursday! May not be able to reply to any comments until then as I'm at my sisters.

* * *

**Chapter 5 – There's No Me, Without You**

_Three Days Ago_

"_Get up," Mike grunted but made no attempt to move, "Get up," he batted away the hand that needled and prodded at his side, still trying to ignore the incessant command, "Fine, stay there and then when your back is killing you in the morning, don't come crying to me about it!" reluctantly, Mike lifted his face up from where it was buried in the sofa cushions to peer blearily at an irritated Harvey. He sighed._

"_Fine, fine, I'm moving," reluctantly, he gathered his knees underneath himself so he could sit up. Harvey steadied him when he nearly lost his balance and toppled sideways onto the floor. Finally he was on his feet, "Kill joy," he practically heard Harvey roll his eyes._

"_I know! How dare I try and get you to sleep in a bed rather than on a sofa!" sarcasm dripped from every word but it lacked any real bite and the warm hand on Mike's back told him the other wasn't really that annoyed, "Come on, bed!" he allowed himself to be herded up the stairs. He found Annie already curled up on the landing and she looked up curiously when they appeared but lost interest quickly. Now at his bedroom, Mike turned to wish Harvey goodnight and he returned the sentiment._

"_Goodnight," Mike didn't know why, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world to reciprocate when Harvey leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. So natural in fact, that it wasn't until he was standing over the threshold of his bedroom that he realised anything about the interaction had been unusual. A flush crept up his neck. He turned to find Harvey hadn't entered his room either. Instead, he was staring at Mike, a look of pure affection on his face. He smiled a little and closed his bedroom door behind him._

_It occurred to him that the fact they had kissed wasn't what was wrong with this situation. What was wrong was that Harvey was in one bed, and he was in another._

* * *

_'Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.'_  
_- David Ogden Stier_s

* * *

"No!" he stressed the word, hoping inanely that the salivating German Shepard in front of him would get the hint and just give it up, "You can stop looking at me like that – it won't get you anywhere," she paced in anticipation as he lifted the cold chicken leg to his mouth and took a bite only to let out a disappointed whine when he dropped it to his lap again, "You've already had your dinner," the dog took no notice of him, not that Mike had expected her too, "Harvey already says I spoil you too much," at the name of her master, Annie glanced briefly at the house he had disappeared into leaving her and Mike to keep watch outside; it was their last stop before they went home, "I'm not allowed!" as if the life were seeping out of her, Annie slid down on her stomach and laid her head down on the floor to stare despondently at Mike where he sat on the garden wall (though it was less of garden and more a patch of grass), "Now come on, don't look at me like that!" she let out a huff of breath, "You can't just pull that act and expect to get your way," the growling mewl she gave very clearly said 'yes I can!', "No you can't ya' dumb dog," her snort was so affronted that Mike found himself doubting his sure knowledge that as an animal, she could not understand him, "Oh shut up," apparently tired with Mike's attitude, Annie stood, turned around and resumed her position on the floor only facing very pointedly away from him, "Now, I know you're not angry with me and I'm actually just projecting emotions on to you, but was there really any need for that?" she ignored him, "Annie?... Annie? Hey, Annie!" a flick of her ear betrayed the fact she was listening, "I know you can hear me Annie. You can't ignored me forever!... Annie? Come on girl don't be like that," he paused to contemplate the chicken leg in his lap, "Fine then," her ears twitched, "Take it! But when Harvey complains, you can deal with him!" scowling (though not really meaning it) he chucked the food down to her. The change was instantaneous.

With a please yap that was more suited to a jack russell, she was on her feet and devouring the offered meat in seconds until all that was left was the bone. He huffed and deliberately ignored her when she lay her head on his knee. She seemed unaffected by his feigned anger and he quickly gave it up in favour of rubbing her ears. He couldn't help the smile that emerged at her pleased mewl. His smile faltered at the novel feeling that threatened to blossom in his chest: contentment. The moment was lost though when Annie tensed under his hand.

Carefully, carefully, Mike slid his free hand across his hip, his finger feeling tentatively for the handgun at his side. In his chest, his heart thumped against his ribs as if protesting the cage they formed around it. He could feel sweat building at his temple and he forced himself to hold his breath in an attempt to steady his shaking hand. Adrenalin sung in his veins and his blood roared in his ears. His fingers closed over the grip of his pistol as he felt Annie's throat vibrate on his knee, her growl low and aggressive.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he froze at the voice and the sound of a gun being cocked. It was rich and calm and its owner was clearly female. The underlying warning was just as clear. He was dead. This was it. He was _so _dead, "Show me your hands," heart pounding; he did as instructed as his options flashed through his head. He should shout and scream for Harvey: it would probably mean his death but at least Harvey would have some warning. But… she hadn't shot him yet – why? Shouting would no doubt provoke her into doing so – no, it was better to stay silent for now. His hands were in the air now and Annie was out-and-out snarling: he hoped Harvey could hear her from here, "Stand. Slowly," carefully dislodging Annie with a nudge, (she barked at that, Harvey had to have heard it) he straightened his knees, "And now turn. Slowly." Gathering himself, Mike followed her command. Finally, he saw them.

His assailants were two women, both of them with shot guns held firmly in their arms, one aiming at him and the other at Annie. The one aiming at Annie had vivid orange hair scraped back haphazardly into a bobble at the back of her head. Her pretty face was drawn into an intent frown, her eyes flicking between Mike and Annie. The other was an African-American woman with her hair scraped back in a similar style. Her full lips were tilted down into a look of pure disdain and her dark eyes threatened violence. Even without the gun in her hands, Mike would have been intimidated. He swallowed the sound of fear that threatened to escape him when he saw their fingers hovering readily over their respective triggers: suddenly he wanted Annie to shut up.

Mike took a deep breath, "Can I help you?" the tremble in his voice was obvious. As if sensing his fear, Annie's yowls became loud and grating but fortunately the women took no notice. The black woman considered him for a second before answering.

"You can," she said mockingly, "Starting with that bag," her eyes flicked away for a second, drawing his own gaze to his rucksack which sat propped against the wall. His knee jerk reaction was to give it up; getting shot was a much direr prospect than not having enough food for a few days. He looked back to her hard face, "Now, what yo-,"

**BANG!**

Mike's heart stopped in his chest. He let out a startled cry and ducked down immediately. He was surprised to find the two women doing the same. Gasping in panic, he lost his balance and nearly fell on his face, only catching himself at the last second. The women recovered much faster than him: the red head turned her gun on him while her companion whipped around to aim vaguely up at the second floor of the building behind them.

"I didn't have to miss," Mike felt simultaneously relieved and anxious at the sound of Harvey's voice (dark and taunting) echoing down into the street.

"I believe you," she said calmly, somehow managing to look past the fact she'd nearly had her head shot off. The red-head however was unable to remain as composed, starting at Harvey's voice and a look Mike didn't understand crossing her features. Slowly and smoothly, Mike pushed himself to his feet as a now silent Annie came to stand protectively in front of him, "The question is though: where do you propose we go from here?"

"Just a suggestion, but I think you should leave," Harvey growled out. Mike peered up, his movements careful and calculated, to find Harvey glaring down out of the window.

"But why would we do that?" her face gave nothing of her thoughts away, "We've got your boy down here after all: would you really risk his pretty little head?" her lips curled into a triumphant smile at Harvey's silence, "All we want is the bag – that's all. Give us the bag, and my friend here won't fill your boy with holes,"

Harvey opened his mouth, a biting retort on the tip of his tongue when his face froze. His grip on his gun went slack and he suddenly pitched forward out the window, a look of incredulous disbelief on his face. Confusion settled in Mike's stomach: what was Harvey doing?

"Jessica?" both women jerked in surprise, their grips on their weapons slackening, "Donna?" the red heads mouth fell open in astonishment and she wasn't the only one. Mike didn't know what to do with himself: on one hand he was as confused as the two women (or Jessica and Donna as they were apparently called) but on the other, Donna was still aiming a gun at him and fear still had him in a vice like grip.

"Who are you?" Jessica said sharply.

Harvey hesitated before holding a placating hand, "Just wait there," and with that he disappeared back inside. He reappeared seconds later, wrenching the front door open and leaping down the front steps to stand beside Mike. It was like he had an elastic band holding him back as he made a strange aborted movement to reach out. He swallowed.

"It – I, - it's me. Harvey," their arms went slack in shock. Mike felt as though he were stood on the other side of a glass window looking in when suddenly he no longer seemed to exist. Letting out a cry of delight, the red head (Donna) and Harvey were suddenly in each other's arms and holding on for dear life as if she hadn't been threatening Mike with a gun only moments before, a fact Mike couldn't help but feel bitter over. Annie seemed equally as uncomfortable with the turn of events if her renewed growls were anything to go by. They both went on ignored as the other three indulged themselves in their hug filled reconciliation. Mike stamped down the jealousy and betrayal that threatened to creep up on him when Harvey pressed a lingering kiss to Donna's cheek. When Harvey pulled away, it was with an elated laugh, "I can't believe it's you!" Donna raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Thought we'd be dead by now?" amused, Harvey shook his head.

"You? Never!" he seemed confused now, "But I thought you both went to Queens!" Donna hesitated and deferred to Jessica.

"This probably isn't the best place to talk,"

"Come back to our place," Harvey said immediately, "It's only a few blocks away. We can talk there," he turned and made to lead them away only to freeze when he saw Mike and the bewilderment on his face.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Jessica prompted, exuding an authority that bent even Harvey too her will.

Suddenly, it was like a completely different person was occupying Harvey's body and Mike saw Harvey's inner lawyer for the first time, "Of course, Jessica, Donna, this is Mike. Mike – Jessica and Donna. Jessica was managing partner at the firm I used to work at and Donna was – well, her official job title was 'secretary'," he exchanged a knowing grin with Donna. Mike found himself feeling irrationally angry with the woman: Harvey never smiled like that for him. There was an awkward silence until Harvey realised that Mike wasn't going to be saying anything, "Let's get going, shall we?"

On the walk back, it was like Harvey was melting back into himself, remembering where he was. He was very careful to keep himself and Annie between Mike and the two women, a reassuring hand occasionally brushing against Mike's arm. He chatted amicably with Donna but Mike could see from the hard set of his shoulders that he was by no means relaxed.

Mike didn't like them being in their house. While they were sat at the breakfast bar (Harvey on one side and the two women on the other), Mike had elected to sit on Annie's makeshift pillow bed by the back door while its owner tried to curl up in his lap. She didn't like them being there either. They were conversing with sombre faces, acting for all the world as if Mike weren't there at all.

"We're heading north east," Jessica told him, sipping at the glass of water Harvey had supplied her with.

"North east? What's north east?"

"It's less about where we're going and more about what we're leaving behind," Donna intoned darkly.

"Alright then: what are you leaving behind?"

The women exchanged looks, "I suppose they could be best described as a gang," Jessica said dryly, "We don't know where they started up, but they've been slowly migrating east, leaving the towns behind them even more dead than they were before,"

"A gang – of how many?" Jessica shrugged.

"I don't know; does it matter? There are enough of them to send people running scared and that's all I need to know," she paused, "They were setting people on fire when we left," Mike didn't know if her nonchalant attitude was an act, but it was damn convincing. Harvey ran a hand over his face.

"Are they coming this way?"

"Who knows – logic would dictate that they'd go for Brooklyn next and after that here, but how do you apply logic to animals?"

"Or they could head to Staten Island," Donna jumped in, "But I think it's unlikely they're going to ignore New York forever," Harvey shook his head in disgust.

"As if we haven't got enough problems without having to avoid lunatics with pyromaniac tendencies!"

"Come with us," this wasn't a question from Jessica, it was an order, "Don't make some idiotic token protest Harvey," she said before Harvey could make a sound, "It's not safe here and you need to move. Come with us,"

Harvey shook his head tiredly, "What, right now?" Jessica scowled at his sarcasm, "With just the clothes on our back? With nothing to go too?"

"What's your alternative then Harvey?" she said sharply, "Wait until they're knocking on your door and you have to jump out of the window to escape? Then you really _will_ only have the clothes on your back!"

"In a few months then yes, yes you may be right and New York won't be safe. But right now? Right now we are as safe as we are ever going to be."

"Safe?" Jessica cried incredulously, "You think you're safe?!" her laugh grated on Mike's nerves, "Think about what you're saying Harvey. Think about it! Think about it when they torch this house with you inside it!"

"You are deliberately missing the point," Harvey ground out.

"The point Harvey? Do you know what they'll do to your boy when they catch you?" suddenly, all the attention was on him. Sensing the change, Annie tensed, "Hmm Harvey?" Harvey swallowed.

"Do not 'close' me Jessica," his warning growl went ignored.

"What they'll do when they catch you - and make no mistake about that, they WILL catch you - what they'll do is hold your head in place and make you watch while they take it in turns with him in front of you," Harvey froze, his eyes meeting Mikes' and holding his gaze; neither could look away, "And what will you do then Harvey? Hmm?" Mike could see the turmoil in Harvey's eyes, the flash of anger and pain as his imagination took hold, "What then? When he's crying and screaming and other men have got their hands on him?" her chuckle was cold, "You never did like other people playing with your toys."

Mike gave a hard flinch when Harvey was suddenly on his feet, pushing his chair back and glaring down at a calm Jessica. Mike felt the hairs on his neck rise when Harvey spoke.

"His _name_ is Michael. He is not a _toy_," Harvey's voice was dripping with malice and Mike found himself involuntarily shrinking away, "And that 'scene' you just described? That is not something to be made light of," practically trembling with rage, Harvey leant forward into the face of a passive Jessica, "Believe it or not Jessica, this is not a court room. We are living in a world where that bullshit has no place so don't you **DARE** try and manipulate me through Mike. Whether or not we leave is not a decision to be made by you," leaning back, Harvey sneered, "Life isn't a game of chess Jessica – not anymore,"

Jessica paused, carefully choosing her words, "Caring like that will get you killed Harvey," there was no humour in Harvey's smile.

"Probably," his eyes found Mike's again, a question in them. Mike hesitated –Harvey never asked his permission about anything. Eyeing the tense women at their breakfast bar, Mike reluctantly nodded his acquiescence, "You're welcome to stay the night if you want but I want you both gone in the morning," Jessica nodded her thanks but otherwise gave no reaction. Mike felt guilty at the pleasure he got from Donna's hurt expression: in another life, he might have been good friends with both of them but right here and right now, he wanted them gone.

There wasn't much discussion as they turned in for the night. Donna and Jessica took his bedroom while he prepared to bunk down with Harvey: Annie settled herself in Harvey's room, effectively blocking the door way. Mike was in bed already, curled up in the foetal position on the side of the bed furthest from the door while Harvey went about getting changed. When Harvey finally made to get into bed, Mike expected him to position himself as far away from Mike as possible. He was surprised then when Harvey shuffled over to his side and plastered his chest against Mike's back and tucked his arms around him. Automatically, Mike repositioned himself so that Harvey was even closer with their legs tangled together. Mike could practically hear Harvey thinking about it before he carefully pressed a kiss against the back of his neck. He felt Harvey's smile curl against his skin when he threaded their fingers together.

"I meant it you know," Harvey said suddenly, "Back when I said we were family? I meant it: I'm not going anywhere without you," another kiss was pressed to his shoulder, "You and I? We will _always_ be together," Harvey couldn't see the sad smile on Mike's face.

"Don't make a promise you can't keep Harvey,"

"I never have and I never will."


	6. A Crime of Passion

**AN**: If anyone is interested!: this was originally chapter seven! Buuut I reorganised the order just a little bit :) This was my second favourite chapter to write! I hope you enjoy it!

(Next chapter will be Saturday or Sunday)

* * *

**Chapter 6 – A Crime of Passion**

_Three Months Ago_

_Mike's mind was thick and heavy as he emerged slowly but surely from the warm embrace of a dreamland he couldn't quite remember. Good dreams were no longer as novel as they had once been but they were always welcome. He smiled at the familiar weight of Harvey's arm across his waist and curling round his back. He opened his eyes to find Harvey facing him, his head resting neatly in the middle of his pillow, still asleep. It was a rare occurrence that Mike awoke before the other man. Reaching out a fond hand, he carefully trailed his fingers across Harvey's forehead, smoothing out the lines of worry that sat on his brow: he never got to do it when Harvey was awake. Harvey sighed at his touch, tightening his arms. Making no effort to be careful (it would make no difference, Harvey slept like the dead when it came to Mike moving him), Mike shuffled closer, forcing a now grumbling Harvey to move back along his pillow and make room for Mike's head beneath his chin. Automatically, both of his arms came around Mike, holding him flush to his chest in his sleep. Mike smiled and burrowed closer._

_He and Harvey were strange together – or at least, that was what Mike thought. After all he'd only had one or two girlfriends before and had certainly never been with a man. How could he claim to know what was strange and what was normal? And yet he knew that with them being who they were, living in the place that they were, he couldn't see them being considered normal by anyone's standards. He'd thought when they first met, that out of the two of them Harvey seemed to be the one who was coping best. He always seemed to level headed – so calm in the face of everything that confronted them. Ready and prepared to be Mike's rock when he stumbled and faltered. But sometimes… sometimes he thought Harvey wasn't as okay as he made himself out to be. There were times when Harvey was so skittish, so wound up that he looked ready to commit violence against anybody and everybody. Mike had been frightened the first time he'd seen Harvey get like that, but he needn't have been. The moment Harvey's eyes had caught sight of his fearful expression, his eyes had softened and warmed. Mike had never had someone look at him in such an intense way: it was almost overwhelming._

_Those days were now few and far between and Mike waited for the day that that they'd cease to be entirely. He knew though that the haunting shadow behind Harvey's eyes would never go. No, Harvey wasn't as okay as he pretended, he could see that now. Mike hoped that, in the same way Harvey was his rock, he could be Harvey's anchor – holding him in place so that he could never truly fall off into the deep end of his own demons. There was little point dreaming about what they could have been together if things were different but Mike wondered all the same._

_Harvey's jaw pressed down on the top of Mike's head as he gave a large, loud yawn, finally awake. He threaded his fingers through Mike's hair and rested his hand on the back of his neck, squeezing briefly. _

_Mike rolled his eyes at Harvey's sleepy murmur of, "Did you grow extra-arms in the night? Yeesh, octopus much!" Harvey pulled him closer any way._

_Yeah they were weird together, but that was okay._

* * *

'_Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.__' -__  
__Samuel Johnson_

* * *

Mike didn't know what had awoken him. It was still dark and the glowing moon was high in the sky when he opened his eyes. A relieved smile emerged on his face at the realisation his didn't have to get up yet. He yawned and snuggled back down into the mattress. Harvey was a heavy but welcome weight as he practically lay across Mike, chest pressed against his back, trapping him in place and snoring quietly into his ear. If there was one thing Harvey was good for, it was fending off the chill of winter nights – the man was like a furnace!

Mike frowned at the niggling feeling that something was missing. His usually razor sharp mind was dulled by the edges of sleep that still clung to him and it took several seconds to realise what was bothering him. Due to the encroaching cold of winter, Annie had taken to sleeping in the bed with him and Harvey, either curled against Harvey's back or (more commonly) tucked under Mike's arm. Last night she had pressed her wet nose against Mike's freshly shaven cheek before falling to sleep but she was no longer at his side. Harvey grumbled when Mike jostled him as he sat up, peering around the room for their missing dog. A soft growling met his ears.

Annie was stood in front of the closed bedroom door, glaring intently at the bottom of the door, her ears were pricked forwards and her tail swayed lowly. Confused and muddled, Mike slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, Harvey sliding off his back as he went – that was enough to disturb his sleep. Mike yawned.

"Annie?" he murmured, ignoring Harvey who was stretching out on the bed behind him and curling away, "What's wrong?" her growl was louder now. He shuffled forward, preparing to stand.

_Creak._

He froze in place and judging by the sudden silence behind him, Harvey had as well. He couldn't breathe, fear spreading down his neck through his spine and crystallising in his lungs. Silently, he prayed desperately. _Let that be it. Let it be a bird. Let it be a pipe_. He could see Annie's white teeth flashing in the dark.

_Creak._

He fought to smother the panicked gasp that escape him with a fist as the lump in his throat dislodged itself. He shuddered with each breath he took, fighting not to collapse in on himself; they were supposed to be _safe_ here for God's sake! Harvey was moving behind him, smooth and silent, pulling on clothes and grabbing the gun and knife he slept with by his side. Severe and calm, Harvey placed a reassuring hand on his bare back.

"_Harvey_," he breathed desperately. Harvey's response was steady and even.

"Get dressed. Get your gun." Mike swallowed and moved to do as he was told. He stumbled to his feet, shaking as he clumsily pulled on the pair of sweat pants at the side of his bed and tugged a thick sweater over his head. Now dressed and his gun in hand, Mike found Harvey was plastered against the bedroom door, his ear pressed firmly against the wood with Annie at his heel. Seeing Mike was dressed, Harvey carefully pulled away from the door and delicately opened it a crack to peer out onto the landing. He glanced back at Mike before he slid out of the room and gave his last instructions, "Stay quiet, stay here and do _not_ open this door." He was gone and Annie with him before Mike could voice his protest.

Shaking, Mike secured his hand on the door knob and slid to the ground, pressing his whole weight against the door. Swallowing, he slotted his ear firmly against the door's wood and listened only to find, to his dismay, that he could hear nothing but his own heart beat pounding in his head.

He waited and waited, pleading desperately with a God he wasn't sure existed for Harvey to come back, a shrewd smile in his face and a dead cat in his hand with an amused quip on the tip of his tongue. Finally, relief blossomed in his stomach at the creak of a step; nothing then. Thank god!

He made to move from the door but something stopped him. A feeling niggled at him in the back of his mind. Frowning, he pressed himself more firmly against the door and redoubled his grip on the door knob. His eyes darted to his hand at the sudden pressure fighting against the hold he had on the door knob: someone was trying to turn it. Just as suddenly, the pressure stopped. Mike shuddered at the low moan of the floorboards as the person on the other side of the door shifted. Holding his breath, Mike lunged forward with his other hand to hold the door knob firmly in place when the efforts to turn it were suddenly redoubled. He heard a frustrated growl and a deep voice he didn't recognise growled, "Fucking door," Mike heard him take a step back. His eyes widened and he let out a gasp as he realised what the man was doing.

Mike nearly fell under the force of the other man's shove as he practically threw himself at the door but, somehow, he kept the door shut fast. Mike was panting now, fresh adrenaline pumping through his veins and galvanising him into action: he had too know this door wasn't simply jammed now. Harvey had to have heard the shove – he'd be coming back, he'd be coming back. The mantra wasn't entirely reassuring when the man on the other side of the door chuckled.

"Not locked then." That was all the warning Mike got before the other was throwing himself at the door, pushing and slamming into it as he tried to force his way into the room. Mike supposed it was inevitable when he was finally thrown to the ground. It happened in an instant, but it felt like a life time. The door flew open, slamming round into the wall, making the plaster crack and crumble. Mike looked around frantically for the gun that he had had, only to realise he'd dropped it in his desperation to cling to the door knob. He was an idiot and he was going to die for it. The man, heavy boots making the floor groan, shuffled forward across the threshold. He was tall (taller than Mike by at least a head) and thick with muscle and layers of clothing. A mane of wild black hair clung to the side of his face and his forehead, mingling with his beard and hanging at his shoulders. Mike supposed he must have eyes, but all Mike could see at this moment were two black endless tunnels that stared out at him beneath heavy eyebrows. A pistol hung limply in his hand at his side and a thick metal pipe was strapped across his back. Thin lips spread into a spiteful shadow of a smile to reveal teeth that were jarringly straight and blindingly white. He wanted to call for Harvey, to desperately plead for help, but he couldn't; the man didn't know Harvey was in the house and that could only be a good thing. Unless Harvey was already dead, his neck crushed by vice like hands. Mike whimpered and tried to shuffle away as the man made to move closer: he paused.

"You're not a girl," his voice was gruff and disappointed. There was silence between them before he seemed to make up his mind, his voice resigned but full of anticipation, "You'll do," he took a step, hands drifting to his belt, but got no further when he suddenly lurched forward, letting out a guttural and chocked cry of pain. He swung around, frighteningly fast for his size, and smashed a fist into his assailants jaw. By the time Mike was on his feet, the man was on top of Harvey, holding down his shoulders with his knees and chocking him with one hand while holding Annie's throat in a crushing grip, ignoring the teeth that dug into the back of his wrist.

In an act of desperation, Mike leapt onto his back and grabbed the knife that was sticking out of his shoulder blade. He wrenched it out, clinging to the man's shoulders as he tried to throw Mike from his back. Without hesitation, Mike drove the knife into his back again and again and again. Despite Mike's weight and Mike's knife in his back, the man stood, releasing a gasping Harvey and a whimpering Annie. Mike darted backwards before a gnarled hand could close around his throat. He lunched forward and pushed the man with all of his weight.

As though in slow motion, the man stumbled backwards. Distantly, Mike heard Harvey's cry of pain as his fingers were crushed under the man's heavy boot. His arms were wind milling desperately, trying to regain his balance as he teetered on the top step. He toppled backwards and Mike heard rather than saw him tumble down the stairs, his colossal weight making the floor tremble. Finally, there was silence.

Annie was quiet, huddled protectively against Mike's knees. Still gasping for breath with his nose streaming blood and his bottom lip split open, Harvey staggered to his feet, scooping up his gun as he did so. He looked first at Mike and second at the bloody knife clutched in his shaking hand.

"Keep a hold of that," bracing himself on the bannister, Harvey carefully made his way down the stairs. Mike shuffled forwards, stopping at the top of the stairs and peering down. Below, the man was sat leaning back against the wall, chest shaking and heaving as he fought for breath, blood pooling around him on the floor. He looked up and watched Harvey's progress down the stairs. His blood slicked hands struggled with his revolver only for him to let out a gasp of pain when Harvey kicked it away. A look of dread overcame his face as he weakly shrank back against the wall.

His arm steady, Harvey aimed his gun at the now nearly-dead man's face. His voice was cold when he spoke.

"If you'd only broken in, I might have let you live," he took a deep breath, "You couldn't have known we were here – it was probably an accident. But you didn't just break in. You'd have hurt him if I hadn't stopped you," very deliberately, Harvey covered the trigger with his finger, "And that? That isn't something I can forgive I'm afraid." The crack of the gun discharging was deafening and though he was expecting it, Mike couldn't help but jump. The following silence seemed just as loud.

Harvey turned and stared up the stairs to Mike, a picture of horror painted on the wall behind him.

"Are you okay?" not quite able to speak yet, Mike just nodded, "Go back into the bedroom; I'll be there in a second."

It transpired that he had gotten in through the attic. Mike grunted at the effort of boosting Harvey up so he could peer into the attic from the hatch door, a wind up torch illuminating the previously unexplored part of the house. He'd refused to let Mike be the one to look, too concerned there might be someone else hiding up there. Mike glanced up at Harvey as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"There's a gaping fucking hole the roof," he snapped angrily, carefully lowering himself down and tapping Mike's shoulder to tell him to let go. Now back on the ground, Harvey grabbed the rag he had thrown on the bannister and pressed it to his face in order to soak up the blood that was still trickling down his face. It was without complaint that he allowed Mike to take the rag and carefully hold it to his face for him. Glancing around, Mike couldn't help but feel unnerved: they never came up to the third floor, "Are you okay?" Mike nodded, unable to say the words. Harvey's careful hand cupped the back of his head and his fingers threaded into the hair there, "I need to go and take care of down stairs. Can you board up the roof or do you need me to do it when I get back?" he gave a weak smile and shook his head. He pressed a kiss to Harvey's cheek and nudged him to the stairs, "Do you want Annie to stay?" Mike waved him away with a frown, moving to the spare bedroom where he knew there were tools, "Will you be talking when I come back?" Mike froze, shoulders tense, "It's okay if you're not," Harvey's voice was soft, "I'm sorry. I'll be ready to talk whenever you are," Annie followed him down the stairs.

In the end, not only did Mike border up the hole in the roof, he also covered up the latch door for good measure: if anyone got into the roof, hopefully that would be as far as they got. When he came downstairs, he found Harvey, the body and the pool of blood gone with only a deep red stain to show it had ever been there. He sat down in the kitchen, placing his gun in front of him, and waited.

When Harvey arrived back, the sun was low on the horizon and ready to begin its new journey across the sky. At some point Harvey had cleaned himself of the blood (some his own, some not) that stained his skin. This meant that the purple bruises that were flourishing across his face stood in stark contrast to his few patches of undamaged skin. Sitting opposite Mike quietly, he brushed the gun to the side and wrapped his hands around Mikes. They sat together in a kind of numb silence until finally, Mike spoke.

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" Harvey let out a wary sigh.

"First rule of gun safety: make sure you know what you're shooting into. I didn't know where you were standing. I could have accidently shot you – nothing is worth that risk. I'd shoot myself first." Harvey leant down to press a dry kiss to Mike's hands, "I told you that I'd never let anyone hurt you."

"I love you," Mike said suddenly, emotion chocking his words so they came out as a croak. Harvey smiled nonetheless.

"And I love you."


	7. A Burning Room

AN: Currently considering the next fic I want to write: I have something very very particular in mind but it is not conventional and takes elements from Dead Like Me (if you've seen it, you'll know what I mean) with Mike dying and becoming a Grim Reaper and returning (with a different appearance) to PH and being all conflicted and stuff (I promise it makes more sense then that, just hard to condense down!) :/ I really want to write it since I've been thinking about it since before this fic but I just don't know. So far I've planned seven chapters out. If anyone has an opinion on whether or not you think it'd work, I'd love to hear it!

So I said Saturday, but it IS Saturday in like one hour and twenty!

Also, this was my favourite chapter introduction to write :)

Only three chapters left now!

* * *

**Chapter 7 – A Burning Room**

_Three Years Ago_

_There was nothing significant about the leisure centre he had chosen to investigate other than that it was a building he hadn't raided for resources yet. He was cautious: he looked through every room for the presence of other people and had found the place empty before he started in on the lockers – they were easier to break open than the vending machines. He would leave the vending machines for tomorrow (if there was anything left in them at all)._

_He'd gotten through half of the lockers in the men's changing rooms when he heard it – the sound of something large hitting water. He held his breath and waited to hear either more moving water or nothing at all. His heart beat pounding in his ears made it difficult for him to tell if he had actually heard the next splash or if he had been imagining it._

_He should have left. He should have ran away and left with the fruits of his labour rather than risking it and staying to investigate. But he didn't leave, instead he ventured further into the building to seek out the disturbance. His line of thought at the time had been that if he ran now, not knowing there was actually no danger, than he was giving up a treasure trove of things that could potentially keep him alive. Running would have been the smarter thing to do._

_He shuffled out of the line of communal showers into the hall that housed the swimming pool. He edged to the pool side and peered down into the water – a sign told him it was just over a metre deep. The water was a pale green colour and was cloudy enough that he couldn't see the pools bottom. The debris, which should have hung still in the undisturbed water, instead swirled and rippled out towards the edge away from the centre where a light fixture was bobbing and slowly sinking._

_His sigh of relief was premature._

_Suddenly there were sharp jagged nails digging into his neck and his feet were being kicked from under him. He managed to avoid being shoved face first into the pools murky waters by twisting violently in his attackers hold. Instead, he landed heavily on his back with the pools edge digging into his shoulders. Winded, he could do nothing for a moment but stare into the face of his attacker._

_His eyes were blood shot and blue and completely wild. His teeth (the ones he had at least) were nearly all black, rotting where they sat in his jaw. His hair and beard were ratty, grey and matted into great knots that bunched close to his skin. His skin hung loose on his bones and rippled with the man's every breath. Despite his mal-nourished appearance, he fought with the strength of a man three times his size._

_The moment passed and he was being dragged forward and pushed down, head and shoulders forced backwards into the water. Mike managed a gulp of air before his head was submerged. The stinging in his open eyes barely registered in his mind as he fought and struggled and twisted and lashed out all in a desperate attempt to dislodge the secure grip of his attacker._

_His lungs burnt and ached in his chest and begged him to take a breath, damn the consequences. His hands were clawing at the face of his attacker, squeezing and pulling at the flesh he could get his hands on. A bubble of air escaped him as he yelped under the water when the man bit into his fingers. With the last of his strength, he forced his shoulders up in order to make the last few inches and drive the fingers that weren't being bitten into the man's eyes._

_The pressure on his shoulders disappeared. He surged up from the water with a deep gasp, dragging fresh air into his lungs. The man's howls of pain met his ears, slightly muffled by the water lodged in them. Mike wasted no time wrenching his knife free from his belt and plunging it into the man's gut. His howls were silenced._

_He collapsed onto his side, his chest heaving. Exhausted and finding himself unable to move, he stared into the vacant eyes of his now dead assailant. His shoulders shook as his deep breaths became sobs. He curled into himself and cried loudly and earnestly. He cried himself to sleep where he lay._

* * *

'_Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,__  
__Take him and cut him out in little stars,__  
__And he will make the face of heaven so fine__  
__That all the world will be in love with night__  
__And pay no worship to the garish sun.' _

_– __William Shakespeare_

* * *

Snow crunched under Mike's boot. It was fresh and surprisingly deep – it must have snowed all night long. His immediate desire upon waking had been to stay indoors, to shy away from the cold and bury himself under a mountain of blankets like he would have done as a kid. But that wasn't an option any more – not if he wanted to eat tomorrow and besides, now was the time to start stocking up on resources. Finally though, their day was over. Harvey was shrugging his rucksack up over his shoulders and reaching forward to readjust Mike's scarf so that it covered his throat better, a gloved finger lingering on his skin. It was always dark when they made to return home now – it was dangerous but unavoidable with the arrival of winter. Today was different though: the sky was thick with snow that threatened to fall at any second, and with the full moon glowing brightly behind the clouds it bathed the city in a strange yellow ambient light.

Harvey rubbed his hands roughly up and down Mike's arms, trying to generate some heat for the other, "You okay?" Mike nodded tiredly, giving Harvey a small smile. It was cold but he had known much colder. He looked down as Annie knocked her head against his knee, a black quilted dog coat wrapped around her middle and shoulders, "Come on, let's go," Harvey squeezed his hand briefly before beginning to lead them home. It was strangely peaceful and for a moment, Mike could imagine he was someplace else. Their pace was sedate – neither of them had the energy for a march and the snow just slowed their pace further. Harvey froze suddenly and came to a stop, his hands clenching around his gun. Following his gaze, Mike saw the silhouette of a woman hunched over a trash can. She looked up and spotted them. Without hesitation, she tried to flee but was impeded by the deep snow so that all she managed was an awkward lope. Her crunching footfalls were too far away to be heard and he and Harvey remained still until she had disappeared from sight. Harvey let out his held breath and cast a glance over his shoulder to Mike, offering a half smile. He went to turn away when he stilled again, his eyes focussing on the tall and grandiose building across the street. He hesitated, taking a halting step before making up his mind and seizing Mike's hand to drag him over the road. Mike found himself too tired to protest.

"What are we doing Harvey?" he said, voice resigned, "I thought we were going home?" Harvey gave no answer as they came to the buildings double doors which were sheltered under a torn and faded canopy, of which half had collapsed. Harvey dropped his hand in order to grab the doors golden handles and pull. He grunted in frustration when they didn't budge, and released one to concentrate on pulling with all his strength on the other. He didn't ask for help and Mike didn't feel inclined to give any. Finally, with an underwhelming creak in comparison with the effort Harvey was exerting, the door slowly gave way to Harvey's will and crept open. Harvey grinned in triumph when there was finally enough room for them to squeeze through. His uncharacteristic smile didn't dim at Mike's thoroughly unimpressed look. He held out a hand.

"Come on!" Mike resolutely ignored the hand.

"There could be anything in there," he pointed out dryly. In Mike's mind, Annie's mewl meant she agreed with him, "Could be anybody,"

"True," Harvey agreed, "But unlikely. A big restaurant like this? Wide open spaces? Lots of rooms for someone to keep track of Mike – I don't think we'll find anyone," still, Mike ignored the hand.

"You're being reckless,"

"Oh come on, we'll be fine!"

"Correction: you're being cocky,"

"When am I not?" rolling his eyes at the charismatic smile directed his way, Mike gave in and slotted his palm against Harvey's and allowed himself to be pulled into the atrium, the novelty of a chipper Harvey winning him over.

"You are an arrogant, asinine and audacious pain," Mike nervously eyed his surroundings, running a little so that he was pressed as closely to Harvey as he could manage. The inside of the building was as magnificent as the outside, discounting the state of disrepair it was in and the glass chandelier that had fallen to the ground, shattering all over the floor. Chuckling, Harvey pulled him further into the building, taking the right corridor at the reception desk. He walked with a purpose that suggested to Mike he'd been here many times before.

"Nice alliteration there – didn't strain yourself too much I hope?" Mike ignored the not so subtle jab at his intelligence.

"You've been here before," it wasn't a question.

"I have. One of my clients was an old hard-ass who was very particular about how he conducted business. One of his rules was he'd only see his lawyers on a Tuesday, between three and six pm, in this restaurant at table 12," they stopped in front of a set of dark wood double doors, Mike suddenly understanding the reason for Harvey's mood; he always lit up at mentions of the past. Of before.

"Any particular reason why?" Harvey shrugged, hand resting against a door. He gingerly pushed it open a crack and peered into the room. A chink of moonlight crept through the gap: the clouds must have moved.

"Not a clue but so long as I was getting paid we could have had meetings on the Tower of Terror and I wouldn't have cared," satisfied that the room beyond was safe, Harvey nudged the door open a little more and ventured inside. The hand still clasped around his wrist meant Mike had little choice but to follow (he nearly tripped over Annie as she wound around his legs).

"You're a bossy bastard you know," his gripe went ignored. He stopped dead as the room came into view, "Oh… wow," Mike swallowed, "I can see why you didn't mind having meetings here," he said weakly. He stumbled forward, Harvey's hand sliding from his wrist, to stand in the middle of the room and simply turn, taking in everything that he could.

Even with the thick layer of dust and debris and the smashed bottles and overturned tables, there was still an atmosphere of warm intimacy that permeated throughout the room. The bar could only be describe as classy. Sleek and expensive, its black granite counter swept across the far corner of the room, brightly coloured glasses and bottles on shelves behind it and suspended above it. In the same corner were six booths of dark leather and oak wood, all of various sizes from seating three to nine. Sprawling outwards from the bar into the rest of the room were mahogany tables inlayed with golden thread that formed sprawling vines up the table legs and matching chairs. Suspended from the ceiling were chandelier type lights made up of jagged fragments of coloured glass encircling light bulbs. The tables stopped when the lush coffee coloured carpet they sat on came to an end at a dark wood dance floor where there was a stage against the wall; a cello and a grand piano still stood in place.

It was a world away from what Mike had ever experienced before and even what he had seen on television hadn't managed to communicate this kind of grandeur.

Harvey smiled at the look of awe on Mike's face and beckoned him closer. He allowed Harvey to pull Mike's arm through his and lead him over to the podium in front of the restaurant doors where a stack of menus sat and Annie was sniffing at the floor. Harvey cleared his throat and Annie looked up curiously.

"Table nine please," Mike couldn't help but agree with the incredulous tilt of Annie's head.

"What are you doing?" Mike said quietly, bemused.

"Just play along," Harvey hushed just as quietly, a hesitant smile appearing before he returned to normal volume, "Yes we have reservations – no we'll be fine thank you," leaving a confused and now disinterested Annie behind, Harvey grabbed a pair of menus and led Mike over to a table in the corner, just on the edge of the dance floor.

"Again: what are you doing?" bemused, Mike allowed Harvey to pull out a chair for him and then push it in before seating himself opposite, the menus laid in front of them.

"Pretending," he said simply, "Pretending that I'm still Harvey Specter, Junior Partner of Pearson and Hardman, who lives in an excessively expensive apartment with my own private elevator and my own personal driver," Mike allowed himself a smile and effortless fell into the game – he wouldn't deny Harvey or himself the pleasure of forgetting for a while.

"We've established who you are, but who am I? After all, I wouldn't have ever come to a place like this as Mike Ross, collage drop out and pot head," rubbing his chin, Harvey hummed in agreement.

"You are…," he said slowly, "Mike Ross, my newly hired associate-,"

"Collage drop out," Mike reminded him, "And you told me Pearson Hardman only hired from Harvard," Harvey smirked.

"Maybe you accidently came to the interview and impressed me so much that I hired you anyway?"

"Like we'd have gotten away with it," Mike scoffed as Harvey reached forward to tangle their fingers together in the middle of the table. Harvey rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he conceded, "You're a paralegal who was hired personally by Jessica and I've been trying for months to get you to come out on a date with me but you've been playing hard to get – you tease," a kiss was pressed to his palm.

"What can I say? I like to watch you squirm," Harvey returned his grin before returning to the fantasy he was weaving for them.

"Finally though, _finally,_ you've agreed to go out with me for the evening. So, aiming to impress, I've brought you to the best restaurant I know. Something close and intimate but not squashed or over-crowded," he wrinkled his nose, "And somewhere that not's to pretentious – don't want you thinking I'm a snob or something,"

"There's thinking and then there's _knowing_ you're a snob," Harvey huffed at the jab.

"I am not! Just because I've got taste – though I suppose that doesn't account for you,"

"Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?" affronted, Mike pinched Harvey's hand sharply and warned, "This first date doesn't seem to be going well Harvey, you better do something to save it,"

"Of course I'm not saying that," Harvey said soothingly, his thumb rubbing at Mike's, "My life would mean nothing without you," the sincerity of his statement made Mike falter, "Now where was I? Ah, yes: so we're on our first date and we're getting to know each other better, so I say," Harvey cleared his throat, "'You look fantastic tonight Mike,'" Mike scoffed but Harvey ploughed on regardless, "'I mean, you always look great at the office but this is just something else,'"

"Is that supposed to be charming?" Mike said slyly, quietly in awe at this other side of Harvey. He was fine with the other just the way he was, but too see what the other man had once been threw everything into perspective.

"Hey! I'm out of practice! Give a guy a chance!" Harvey defended, quickly slipping back into character, "If you don't mind me asking; what changed your mind about coming out with me?" Mike fought against the smile that threatened to emerge and instead schooled his features into an expression of casual boredom. He shrugged.

"Well, everyone says you're awesome in bed and I figured I might as well try and find out for myself," a startled laugh burst free from Harvey. Mike couldn't help but chuckle back.

"Oh really? You just want me for my body Mr Ross?" he shrugged.

"Well, that and I wanted a free meal," chortling, Harvey made to lean forward but frowned when he found the table was very much an obstacle to his goal. Smoothly, he stood and swung his chair round so he could sit at a right angle to Mike. He slid an arm around the back of Mike's chair and wound his free hand around Mike's. Satisfied, he leant forward again and this time succeeded in pressing his mouth against Mike's. The kiss remained frustratingly chaste, even when Mike tried to push the issue, wrapping a hand around the back of Harvey's neck and pressing closer.

"And you called me the tease?" he grumbled, worrying his lip against Harvey's bearded cheek, "Take me home?" Harvey's breath was warm on his neck and he started when teeth scraped down his throat. A kiss followed the teeth. Harvey pulled back to consider him with calculating eyes.

"Dance with me first," it was a demand, not a request. Mike's raised eyebrows made the other reconsider that, "Please?" he added grudgingly. For as long as Mike had known him, Harvey had been firmly installed with a strange authoritarian attitude. An attitude Mike guessed to be a combination of his days as a cut throat lawyer and his new reality of do or die. His proclivity to give orders was irritating but was generally an approach that served them well: they had little time for democracy on the street and never bothered with it at home. He'd noticed though that that seemed to be changing. Harvey still gave orders and Mike still followed but Harvey _asked_ now as well (and sometimes begged too, his mind supplied smugly).

"Too what music?" hands wrapped securely around Mike's wrists, Harvey stood sharply, pulling Mike with him so they were pressed flush together. Mike's eyes flicked to the predatory smile that hovered above him. Manoeuvring them to the dance floor, Harvey refused to surrender even an inch of their proximity. He waited patiently as Harvey delicately rearranged their position, his touch suddenly careful. It was as though the other remembered himself intermittently; he didn't need to be harsh with Mike – he _shouldn't_ be harsh with Mike.

Finally they were in position: Harvey had wrapped an arm around Mike's waist and Mike curled a hand around Harvey's shoulder. Their free hands were clasped between them. Harvey swayed and spun them to silence.

"I still can't hear this music of yours," Mike said pointedly, sharply prodding Harvey's chest with the back of his finger. Harvey's smile was indulgent and his voice was low as he began to croon into Mike's ear.

"_Somewhere beyond the sea  
Somewhere waiting for me…"_

Harvey waited only until the front door was closed and bolted behind them to throw himself at Mike. His hands clawed at the innumerable layers that concealed Mike's body from him, desperation leaking from him as he finally tore the scarf from Mike's neck and latched onto the available flesh, sucking and biting. Mike shoved him away with force enough to throw the other into the wall. With a smile full of promise, Mike hurriedly ducked down to roughly remove his boots. Returning his grin, Harvey stayed away only long enough to take off his own footwear before he was on Mike again, pressing their hips together urgently: the layers between them prevented them from truly feeling one another but the suggestion of what was to come was enough.

His rough hands grabbed and pulled at Mike, hitching under Mike's ass and around his thighs to haul him up the stairs, relentless still in attempts to kiss and bite every part of Mike he could get access too. They stumbled, falling back against the stairs. Mike let out a hiss of pain as the middle of his back pressed into the sharp edge of a step. Harvey muttered a distracted apology, sliding a hand under Mike's back and providing a barrier between Mike and the offending step. Tugging and grabbing at Mike's leg, Harvey desperately urged the other to wrap his legs around his waist. Mike yelped in surprise when Harvey suddenly let go of his waist and left him to hold on while he fumbled with Mike's zipper. Mike's head fell back against the top of the stairs, his mouth falling open in a silent sigh of relief as Harvey's hand finally found its way to his flesh.

Now, he was on his back in the middle of their bed, his head cradled between carefully arranged pillows. Harvey's hands were on his ass again, curling under and around his flesh, pressing him closer and urging his legs further apart. Mike's own arms were thrown tightly around Harvey's shoulders, holding on as Harvey rocked forwards into him, hips thrusting at a leisurely pace between his legs. He knew that Harvey was murmuring something in his ear, hot breath making his skin burn, but he couldn't for the life of him say what was being said. A languidly muttered phrase made it through to him though:

"You feel amazing."

A smile found its way to Mike's face. He insistently tugged on Harvey's hair, drawing his face up from his shoulder to slot their lips together. Mike shuddered as a hot tongue met his and a guttural moan escaped the man above him.

* * *

'_If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you __**stop**__ your story.__'__  
_- _Orson Welles_


	8. Stay

AN: I promised myself I'd upload this on Wednesday, but come on guys, I know me and YOU know me as well by this point, it was never going to happen. I think I have a compulsion issue. The rest will have been uploaded by Wednesday next week as that's when I go away.

Not much left now guys! I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Stay**

_Two weeks ago_

_Harvey regretted entering the apartment building almost the second he had. There was something lingering in the air – a strange smell like charred wood mixed in with chlorine and copper. It made breathing in too deeply uncomfortable and sat heavy in his lungs. He rubbed a hand against his forehead where he could feel a headache building. He was tempted to tell Mike to wait outside but the memory of Jessica and Donna stopped him; they'd gotten lucky that time. He turned to find the other hovering uncertainly in the doorway, Annie at his side. He had once jokingly lamented the days when she had preferred him to Mike but now he wouldn't have it any other way and neither would she: Mike was her puppy now._

"_This place smells funny," Mike said nervously, his nose wrinkling._

"You _smell funny," he shot back immediately, smirking at the dark look he received in response._

"_Har har," Mike intoned dully, "Seriously though – what the hell is that?" he sniffed the air, taking a hesitant step forward, "It smells like burnt bacon," he glanced back at Annie who still hadn't moved, "Maybe we should give this one a miss?" Harvey was shaking his head before Mike had finished speaking: no, they couldn't afford to not at least look. They had survived the winter by the skin of their teeth and they needed to take this opportunity to build up their resources again. They couldn't just skip out every place that smelt strange._

"_No, you know we can't," Mike pulled a face but nodded anyway, as Harvey placed a hand on the banister "Stay here and keep watch while I look around up stairs – yell if you need me."_

_The first floor and second floor apartments were empty of anything useful. It was only when he got to the third floor that he found something of value: bullets. They were strewn out all across the floor, some merely shells and others not. He winced, his back protesting as he ducked down to scoop the ammunition up off the floor: dammit, he was too old for this! He stomped down the thought almost as soon as it had emerged. No, he was fine. He wasn't even forty yet, he had years left in him and he wouldn't start moaning until his aches truly warranted complaint._

"_**HARVEY!**__" leaning to grab the last bullet, he nearly pitched forwards onto his head at the sudden scream from below. His body leapt into action, panic curling in his stomach and fear rippling up his spine, both urging him to move faster. He threw himself down the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time and nearly falling more than once. _

"_Mike! Mike where are you?!" arriving at the ground fall, he stumbled into a wall and searched frantically for Mike. He found him hunched over on his knees, retching uncontrollably, the contents of his stomach on the floor in front of him. Confused, Harvey rushed to his side and placed a concerned hand on his back, "What's wrong? Mike?" Mike managed to stop heaving long enough to raise a shaking hand and point. A wary Annie was inching away from an open door. Hesitantly, Harvey got to his feet and approached the door to find it opened into a concrete stair case leading down into a basement. He leant forward cautiously only to reel back at the pungent smell that threatened to bowl him over: they'd found the source of the chemical/burnt wood smell then. He glanced at Mike: he was huddled against the wall, shuddering. Bracing himself, he carefully made his way down the stairs, noting the scorch marks that licked at the walls._

_Dread sat heavily in his stomach with every step he took. The walls become blackened and charred with a layer of fine soot clinging to them. He hesitated where fingers had obviously dragged through the dust layer – no doubt Mike's fingers. He fought to keep moving, every instinct he had telling him to stop and leave now. It was a strange kind of morbid curiosity that kept him moving._

_Harvey had barely touched the bottom step when he saw what had made Mike so violently ill. He turned around immediately and marched back up the stairs and shut the door behind him. Mike looked up sharply at the snap of the closing door; his eyes were red and wet and his skin was almost grey. He didn't resist when Harvey firmly pulled him out of the house and onto the street._

"_Oh my god Harvey," he stumbled over his feet, his whole body shaking, "Harvey…"_

"_I know," Harvey's voice was hard and biting, "I know,"_

"_Harvey, oh god," Mike came to a sudden stop, refusing to move, "The smell Harvey," giving in to his base instinct, Harvey pulled Mike firmly against him and cradled his head in the crook of his neck._

"_I know,"_

"_They were burning people Harvey. Jessica and Donna. They said they were _burning_ people," Mike quivered in his arms, his chest heaving, "God that poor family – what if it's them?" Harvey didn't have an answer to give, "It can't have happened that long ago – they were still smoking. Oh god what the fuck," Mike was clambering to hold Harvey to him as closely as he could, his arms winding around Harvey and his hands balled into fists full of Harvey's jacket, "_They set them on fire! _W-what-?"_

"_We're not staying any longer," Harvey said darkly into his hair, "As soon as we can, we're leaving," he cursed himself silently: they should have left when Donna and Jessica had._

_Mike nodded against his shoulder._

* * *

_'Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love.'_  
_- Morihei Ueshiba_

* * *

Harvey was stood outside their front door, his head resting against it. His key was in the lock, poised to turn and let him inside. But he couldn't do it. The fear of what he might find inside filled him with dread: it had been like this every day this week. He gritted his teeth, steeling himself. Slowly, as if it would save him from the blow, he pried the lock open and nudged the door so it stood ajar. A piece of paper floated to the floor and was shortly followed by Annie's curious snout nosing the door open. She pressed her head briefly into his hand before trotting back into the living room. Harvey hesitated before following, anxiety trapping his breath in his lungs.

He crept forwards, the floor boards creaking under his weight as he moved. He peered into the room. Annie had settled again on the floor, curled up into a tight ball against the wall. His eyes sailed past her to the figure huddled on the sofa, a thick duvet thrown over him. Letting his bag slide from his shoulders, he inched forwards until finally his hand was smoothing down Mike's ruffled hair. He shuddered, chest heaving in relief: despite the fact his brow still burned with fever, he was also still breathing. Harvey pressed a kiss to his cheek. Assured Mike was fine for now; he left him briefly to empty his bag and replace the now empty pitcher of water that had been sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa: it had been full this morning – at least Mike was drinking something.

Carefully, Harvey pushed the coffee table back to make room enough that he could sit on the floor beside Mike. It was with a kind of reverence that Harvey reached up a hand to thread his fingers through Mike's hair and hold his head. His lips twitched when Mike let out a sigh and nudged his head further into Harvey's hand. As he had done every day for the last five days, Harvey made himself comfortable, resting his head on top of Mike's quilt covered middle and leaning his whole weight against the sofa: he estimated an hour before his backside became numb enough to necessitate moving. Mike let out a wet wheezing cough in his sleep.

Harvey tried to breathe through the anxiety that twisted in his stomach: he didn't know what Mike had, but he didn't seem to be getting much better. He'd gotten ill not long after the basement incident and Harvey didn't know if it was a result of something there or if it was just a coincidence. Mike had tried to soldier through the burn in his throat and the heavy weight in his lungs but he had finally given in and allowed Harvey to confine him to the house when he'd fallen trying to walk up the stairs. Luckily he had fallen forwards and not backwards, but the sight of Mike collapsed on his front, too weak to get up again, had scared Harvey half to death.

Every morning Harvey had carried Mike down from their bed to the sofa and every evening he carried him back again. Mike wasn't eating and though he was desperately thirsty, he was only keeping half of what he drank down. While he had been teetering on being underweight before, he definitely was now. His collar bones and ribs were painfully visible and Harvey could see the ridges of his spine through his skin whenever he bent over. His waist, which had always been narrow, was now almost painfully so. The only thing stopping him from being skin and bone was his lean muscle but if he was ill much longer, Harvey didn't doubt that that muscle would cease to be.

He inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the smell of Mike that clung to the duvet. He hated to admit it, but he didn't know what to do: he wished he'd been a doctor now, rather than a lawyer. At least then he'd know what to do for Mike beyond keeping him hydrated and comfortable and even now he wasn't able to do that properly. He wanted to stay with Mike throughout the day, but it was impossible: Mike might not be eating right now, but he'd certainly need to when he was well enough. He left in the morning, making sure Mike was hydrated and as settled as possible (his fever had left him intermittently confused) before returning as early as he could manage. He hated it.

He would never have imagined, all those months ago, that one day he'd be here, diligently caring for the man he'd once promised to abandon at the first sign of inconvenience. If he could go back, he'd have told himself not to be such a prick and to smile more – Mike liked it when he smiled.

"Ha'vey…?" he sat up at the mumble of his name to find bleary blue eyes staring at him, "Wha…?" he slid closer, pausing to pull down a spare pillow and shove it beneath him. He rubbed Mike's brow soothingly, helping the other as he fought to free an arm from the cocoon he was wrapped in.

"Hey," Mike blinked, searching Harvey's face with more comprehension then he'd shown in days, "How you feeling?" slowly, Mike looked away, his gaze searching the room for something. Harvey waited patiently, knowing the other would answer eventually. He preoccupied himself with playing with Mike's fingers where they lay on his stomach. Suddenly, Mike gave a large and unexpected yawn. He arched his neck back and let out a satisfied sigh before finally turning back to Harvey.

"Better," his voice was hoarse and soft from disuse but held none of the frailty it previously had. Harvey didn't bother to hide his relieved smile, cupping Mike's cheek in his hand and running his thumb tenderly across his cheek.

"Good. That's good," Mike yawned again; "You've spent all this time sleeping and yet you're still tired?" he teased gently; Mike managed a scowl, weakly pinching Harvey's finger.

"I might as well go back to sleep if you're just gonna' bully me," he mumbled, another yawn escaping him.

"Me? Bully you? Never," Mike rolled his eyes and fell silent. Harvey watched quietly as his eyelids fluttered over drifting eyes, sleep threatening to pull him back into its grasp. He wanted nothing more than to nudge Mike awake – he'd been conscious only minutes and Harvey hadn't had nearly enough of him – but he stopped himself; he didn't have the heart to rouse him when he was so obviously exhausted. Rather than falling asleep though, Mike blinked languidly before giving himself a little shake and refocusing on Harvey.

"I'm hungry," Mike grumbled in displeasure at the kiss that Harvey pressed against his lips, unable to stop himself, "Not for that," Harvey shook his head with a grin, feeling more at ease then he had in weeks, "I'm hungry," Mike repeated, moving as if to get up but Harvey wasn't having any of it, holding him firmly in place.

"You, stay put. Tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you," he waited patiently while Mike made up his mind, nearly drifting off again before answering.

"Do we have any apples? Or… or just any fruit?" Harvey was pleased to tell him that they did though the apples were verging on a week old and the plums (the only other fruit they had) were probably over ripe, "I'll have them anyway," a yawn interrupted him, "Please," he hesitated only to press another kiss to Mike's mouth before disappearing into the kitchen, a call of, "Can you peel the apples please?"

Harvey didn't think he'd ever been happier to cut up fruit. He tried to be careful as he peeled and sliced the two apples as fast as he could and de-stoned one of the plums, the fruits flesh nearly turning to pulp in his hand it was so ripe. He tasted it hesitantly and was relieved to find it tasted fine. He returned to the living room to find Mike trying and failing to sit up.

He quickly put the plate he was carrying down and slid an arm under Mike to lift him up so he was vertical. Harvey let go carefully, waiting for any sign Mike might slump over as he slouched back into his seat. He tugged the coffee table forward so he could sit down. He slid the plate of fruit onto Mike's lap, stealing a bit for himself, smiling when Mike half-heartedly slapped his hand away.

Mike didn't eat any straight away, struggling to get his breath back. Harvey winced as coughs wracked Mike's frame. He lunged forward to first save the plate of food and second to rub Mike's back firmly (his chest tightened at the feel of Mike's bones beneath his hand). Mike leant into him, forehead resting on his shoulder while his own shoulders jerked with each cough. Finally, he fell silent other than for the rattling of his breathing, something that Harvey had grown used to and only noticed now it was right in his ear. He rested his hand on the back of Mike's neck.

"Okay?" Mike swallowed and nodded, "Come on," ever so slowly, Harvey helped Mike lean back again. He grabbed the pitcher of water and held it to Mike's mouth, "Slowly," he warned, watching diligently as Mike took steady sips of water before finally pushing it away. He took a shaky breath and offered Harvey a smile.

"You gonna' feed me now too?"

"I'd do anything for you," Mike just smiled and accepted the lump of apple that was offered to him. He chewed slowly and swallowed hesitantly, no doubt wary of the apple making an unwanted reappearance. Slowly but surely, Mike cleared the plate of apple and left the plum to Harvey, pulling a face at his first taste of it. With the food and a quarter of the pitcher of water gone, Harvey put the plate down and sat beside Mike.

Mike made no protest when Harvey gently rearranged him between his legs and pulled him up and flush against his chest. Grunting in frustration and with some assistance from Harvey, Mike turned on to his stomach so he could press his ear against the other's chest and listen to his steady heartbeat. They lay quietly together, neither in any hurry to move. Mike yawned loudly. Harvey craned his head down awkwardly to watch in amusement as Mike reached out a hand to Annie and wiggled his fingers enticingly, urging her to come closer. She, like Harvey, seemed to have difficulty with refusing Mike anything. She padded closer and pressed her head into Mike's hand, resting her jaw on Harvey's side so she could exert minimum effort.

"That dog loves you," Harvey muttered, trying to move as little as possible while dragging the quilt over their legs. With his face buried in Harvey's chest, Mike's response was muffled.

"So do you,"

"You know that I do,"

"I do too," Mike paused, "Love the dog I mean, I don't know what I'd do without her!" Harvey scowled and prodded Mike grumpily.

"You're lucky I'm feeling forgiving or you'd be lacking a human pillow right now," Mike's chuckle was somewhat chocked as battled against a coughing fit that threatened to interrupt their peace.

"You shouldn't fight the coughing," Harvey said lightly, stroking his back. Mike ignored him, stomach twitching under the effort of not coughing. Finally, he let out a long breath through his nose but he offered Harvey no response. Gradually, he went limp again, draped across Harvey with his hand resting on Annie's head.

It didn't take long for Harvey to follow him into the land of nod.


	9. We'll Meet Beyond the Shore

AN: Was going to upload this tomorrow, but as I have an English Literature exam I figured it would be best to do it before hand unless it goes terribly and I'm busy drowning myself (and not in water if you know what I mean).

You might want to grab some chocolate or ice cream for this chapter. And the next one.

* * *

**Chapter 9 – We'll meet beyond the shore**

_One Year Ago_

_Harvey stared at the vending machine dubiously. All the food that had been there once was now gone except for half a Klondike bar. The other half had probably been eaten by the dead rat that had somehow managed to strangle itself in the machinations. But it wasn't the food (or lack thereof) that interested him, no; it was the golden glint that had caught his eye and his attention. Crouching down, he pressed his forehead against the scum covered glass and peered inside. He couldn't be sure, but they might be bullets. He could only guess that someone had decided that this was a good place to hide their ammunition but he had no idea how they'd managed to get it in there. _

_Glancing up and down the subway, he told Annie firmly to sit (which she did). Reaching a hand into the compartment, he found that the covering door was jammed horizontally, blocking of the main body of the machine from the dispensing part. He hesitated, looking warily around, before thrusting his fist into the cover. He winced at the noise of his fist colliding with the plastic and at the pain in his hand. He gritted his teeth and tried again. He smirked triumphantly when the plastic gave way to bend back and allow Harvey's arm access to the lowest shelf. He was frustrated to find he could barely reach anything. He cursed under his breath. Annie yawned behind him as he pressed against the machine, his cheek against the glass and his whole arm disappearing into it. He hissed in pain when his arm scraped against a stray bit of metal but persevered regardless and was rewarded when his fingers closed around three bullets. He let out a satisfied chuckle, pulling his arm back to feed the ammunition into his revolver._

_From the corner of his eye, he saw Annie's head suddenly swing sharply to the left but thought nothing of it until she let out a low warning growl. He stilled for a second, before leaping into action. He moved quickly, slipping his bag over his shoulder, standing, and aiming his gun blindly into the dark. He gritted his teeth in frustration when he found the blackness impenetrable to his eyes but the prickling at the back of his neck told him Annie wasn't growling at nothing._

"_Step forward. Now." There was no movement, "Don't make me ask again."_

_Finally, a body emerged from the darkness, shuffling and nearly stumbling and hands held up in surrender. He was just a kid – a kid who was shaking he was so scared. His eyes were captivating though: they were a vivid blue and held a kind of innocence that Harvey hadn't seen for a long time. They flicked to the gun in his hands and fear suddenly eclipsed their brightness until all that remained was desperate resignation: he didn't expect to survive this encounter. It was his eyes that stopped Harvey from meeting his expectations: he couldn't kill this man now he'd seen that spark._

_Harvey didn't know it then, but he was lost from the moment their eyes met across the gloom._

* * *

'_Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still _**plant my apple tree**_.'  
Martin Luther King Jr_

* * *

Mike was hunched over, the bottom of his quilt jacket riding up as he packed a few last things into his back pack and Harvey was glad to say, he could barely see his spine creeping up his back. Three weeks of proper meals had done Mike good and he was nearly back to his old weight and his old self, though his breathing still wasn't great. Of course, Harvey would admit he wasn't merely staring at Mike to assess his health – a man had to have his little pleasures and he knew Mike thoroughly enjoyed being the object of his desire. He was like a cat basking in the sun when he knew Harvey was watching. Sadly, they didn't have time for that and Harvey couldn't say when they next would.

Regretfully, Harvey pushed himself to his feet: he wished they could linger just a few days more but they had meant to leave over a month ago. They couldn't put it off anymore. He shrugged his rucksack up over his shoulders before sidling closer to Mike. He felt Mike's skin twitch when he dragged his fingers across his exposed skin, chasing the Goosebumps that preceded his touch. Mike relaxed, content to let him touch while he finished up.

Finally, he straightened and Harvey took it upon himself to carefully pull his shirt and jacket (which had ridden up) back down and smooth out the material. He pressed closer, trailing his nose down the shell of Mike's ear and pressing a reverent kiss against the sensitive patch of skin just behind his earlobe. Mike shuddered, sinking back against the contact before he remembered himself and pulled away sharply with a disapproving but amused glare. They had danced this game before and knowing where it led, Harvey couldn't help but be disappointed that Mike didn't want to play.

Reluctantly, Harvey allowed him to pull away and secure his bag. They both took a moment to take in the living room that they had shared together and would now be leaving behind. Memories and their associated emotions threatened to bombard Harvey with reasons not to leave but he fended them off, the image of a family burnt in their own basement acting as his unpleasant shield. They couldn't stay. He pretended not to see when Mike rubbed a hand across his eyes. Mike let out a shuddering breath, glancing at Annie where she sat in by the front door.

"I suppose it's time," Mike looked up when Harvey pressed a revolver into his hands while he tucked his own pistol into the back of his trousers and picked up his riffle. Mike's eyes stared at the revolver in his hands, "This's the gun you threatened me with when we first met," he said suddenly.

"Probably," Harvey agreed, zipping up his jacket.

"No, it _is_," Mike insisted, "… it's a year today you know?" Harvey knew what he meant even if he didn't say the words. He nodded, pressing a last kiss to Mike's lips before leading them to the front door. He locked it behind them out of habit and slipped the front door key into his pocket.

They didn't speak as they left, both weighed down by the feeling of finality that descended upon them. They would not be returning here. Even Annie seemed affected, her head low and ears flattened back against her skull and practically wrapping herself around Mike's legs with his every step. Mike never asked where they were going and Harvey was glad for that – he didn't have an answer to give after all. The utter certainty Mike seemed to have in his every decision brought a lump to his throat: Mike was trusting him with everything and he was determined to prove his faith was not misplaced.

The streets were quiet. Other than the sounds of their own echoing footsteps being reverberated between the buildings on either side of them, there was nothing else to be heard. Even the wind was silent, leaving Annie panting and Mike and Harvey to sweat under the glare of the sun: their jackets were soon bundled up in their bags. He didn't know if it was his own paranoia, but Harvey couldn't help but feel that something wasn't as it should be. He felt bizarrely isolated, like this was the only street in the entire city. Even the birds seemed to have stopped their song. Anxiety pulled at his gut, making him feel vaguely sick. A whisper of a breeze made him shiver and his hairs stand on end; pausing, he held his riffle aloft.

"What is it?" Mike murmured under his breath, finger rubbing tetchily at the trigger guard of his pistol. Harvey didn't have the words to explain why, but every instinct he had ever relied on was screaming at him. They needed to move, to get out of the open but where? He eyed the doors and windows that lined the street: what made any of them safer then where they were at the moment? There could be anything or anyone in there – something that never normally concerned him over much, dealing with encounters when they occurred, but they never normally encountered the burnt remains of children, "Harvey?" there was a note of panic in Mike's voice now. Shit, what did he do? Where did they go? Annie was mewling unhappily now, looking around cautiously.

His heart stopped in his chest and what felt like ice water trickled through his veins: _something had moved._ He whipped around sharply, aiming his gun vaguely in the direction of a coffee shop where he could swear he'd seen a shadow stir. He held his breath when slowly the shadow emerged again, like a phantom melting through the air until it was framed in the doorway, yellow teeth smiling out at him and a knife glinting in the sun.

"_Harvey!" _in the second that it took Harvey to look away to the opposite side of the street where another man was emerging (a baseball bat with a wad of dripping cloth at the end of it clasped in his hand: a makeshift and un-lit torch), the shadow had burst out into the street to reveal itself to be little more than a man of flesh and blood. He was dead on the floor, bullets filling his chest before he could get within even ten feet of them "Harvey we have to run!" Mike grabbed him and pulled him away. Confused, Harvey allowed Mike to lead for once in a sprint down the street. Glancing back, he understood why.

At least twenty men followed behind them. Jeers and laughs broke the silence. Oh god, they'd been _hunting them_. How long had they followed them? From the house? But why not ambush them there? Why now? He could have kicked himself – he was preoccupied with thoughts of 'when' and why' when they were faced with much more pressing issues.

Mike yelped and stumbled when one of their pursuers let loose a volley of bullets. Fortunately, they all went wide of their targets. Feet pounding the ground, Harvey steadied Mike before he could fall and took his place a step ahead of Mike so he could lead their course but keep an eye on the other.

"Drop your bag!" he ordered; they both struggled briefly with the straps over their shoulders before they were finally free of their burden and practically flying across the ground without the bags to hinder them. Harvey hoped desperately that that would be enough – that the men only wanted the bags and that now they had them, they would give up their pursuit. This was not the case. The bags were ignored and the only good they had done was to trip one of their pursuers who went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and who did not get up again. He cursed, pushing himself harder but ever aware of Mike's wheezing laboured breathing beside him.

Suddenly, Mike let out a choked gasp of fear and came to an abrupt halt, nearly falling and pulling Harvey with him when he latched onto his arm, dragging him to a stop. The path ahead of them was not as clear as it had once been. Three more men emerged as if they were part of the architecture come to life, creeping away from the shadows that had hidden them and into the sun where they surely did not belong. Harvey fired at them and watched in satisfaction as two of the shades hit the floor. The third appeared unmoved by the fall of his comrades and advanced forward, gun held up in front of him. He spun to shoot at the group behind them but didn't wait to see if any fell, instead dragging them into an adjacent street.

They were sprinting again, feet hammering the tarmac brutally and propelling them forward at a speed that never felt fast enough. Their pursuers were unperturbed and followed as determinedly as ever. Harvey made out a cry:

"RUN FOREST! RUN!"

The men, stronger, very obviously better fed and clearly (and disturbingly) used to this kind of pursuit, were gaining with every step. If they could just find somewhere to duck into without being seen, they might manage to double back behind them and flee in the opposite direction (maybe even getting their bags). That plan went out the window though almost as soon as it had brushed his thoughts.

Mike fell with a cry and Harvey felt like the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. He stumbled in his haste to stop and only just managed to stay standing himself. He thrust an arm under Mike's arm and made to haul him to his feet, randomly firing down the street. Mike struggled to stand under his own power, his ankle threatening to buckle under him. Then his riffle ran out of ammo. That was when his composure left him. He let out a frustrated cry, casting his weapon to the ground and pulling his pistol from his waist band. Mike was finally on his feet again and Harvey dragged them to the closest building but they had wasted much of their minimal lead. By the time they were at the door (a school), the leader of their hunters was close enough to fist a hand in the back of Mike's shirt and try and drag him back.

Harvey shot him in the face.

"H-Harvey-," Mike gasped, reeling back from the splatter of blood.

"Shut up." Harvey growled sharply, pushing him forwards into the school and dragging him round the nearest corner in attempt to break the men's (no – not men – these were animals) line of sight. He could hear them, their voices echoing in the corridor behind them and their feet pounding on the tiled floor. They were joking and playing, throwing each other into the lockers that lined the walls. They were _joking_. He felt sick – these people wanted to torture and kill them for the pure fun of it.

"Dibs I get the blonde one first!"

Harvey gritted his teeth at the echoing thumps of their footsteps as they ran. He herded Mike into a staircase, catching a glimpse of their pursuers coming round the corner before he could disappear up the stairs with Mike.

"Oh hell _no!_"

"You had the last one first! Give someone else a chance before you fuck him up!"

Harvey didn't know what to do, where to go. Most of the men weren't even bothering to run after them now, confident this chase would end in their favour. Only one kept pace with them, occasionally firing at them with a gleeful whoop of joy. Harvey picked their direction randomly, dodging the bullets being fired at them and desperately hoping for another stair case to lead them back downstairs.

Finally, their luck ran out and they were confronted with a long corridor that contained only one heavy metal door at the far end. Shit.

"They're at a dead end! Come quick!" the shout jolted Harvey out of his panic. He made to turn back only to narrowly escape a bullet in the head. The sound of his own teeth grinding together almost drowned out the sound of the shot he returned.

"GET TO THE DOOR!" Mike didn't need telling twice, sprinting down the corridor with Annie following more slowly (Harvey briefly caught the red staining her fur). Harvey tried to give some semblance of cover, backing up slowly and firing into the corridor behind them, but it was futile: the men seemed to lack any sense of self-preservation and Harvey was nearly out of bullets. He heard Mike open the door.

"HARVEY!" at Mike's shout, he gave up all pretences of fighting back and ran. He was mere feet from the door when-

**BANG!**

A pained scream ripped free from Harvey's throat before he even realised what had happened. His left knee buckled under him as a bullet tore through his flesh. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe and he certainly couldn't run. The pain consumed his every thought: hot, burning and stabbing – he dimly registered the screaming in his ears as his own. Everything narrowed down to snap shots as adrenaline and endorphins surged through his blood, slowly numbing everything.

Mike's hands were on his shoulders, forcing him up and forwards. He took one step on his injured leg before he careered forwards into the room.

His gun wasn't in his hand anymore. It was in Mike's.

He emptied the clip in to the hall before giving up and throwing the weapon to the side.

Mike was turning into the room now, his back pressed against the door as he swung it shut.

He heard one last shot being fired.

Red sprayed into the air. Mike's head swung to the side.

The door closed.

* * *

"_Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."__  
__―__Kahlil Gibran_


	10. We'll Kiss as Just Before

AN: Thank you for reading to the end. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it (it probably says a lot about me that I DID enjoy writing this).

* * *

**Chapter 10 – We'll kiss as just before**

'_Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.__' -__  
__George Eliot_

He was dimly aware of the deep throbbing pain in his knee that intensified with every beat of his heart. Moments ago it had nearly consumed him but now… now it was nothing. _Nothing compared to this_.

"Oh g-god." He could feel hot blood dribbling across his palm where he cradled the back of the others head, his fingers slipping against the deep groove the bullet had left behind. Mike's head was a dead weight in his hand.

_Mike's head was resting on his shoulder. He'd been sleeping that way for about half an hour now, his fingers tangled with Harvey's, and even though Harvey's shoulder had gone numb, he made no move to rouse him. He could bear the burden of being a human pillow a while longer._

Mirrors lined the studios four walls, each reflecting the evidence of his failure back at him from every angle. Screaming voices echoed dully about the room, threats and taunts; Harvey couldn't hear it though, the raging of his own mind drowning out everything else. How had they come to this?

No. _No._ Mike couldn't _leave_ him here, alone.

"P-please… _please_ – Mike?" blue eyes stirred, but they weren't the eyes Harvey knew and loved. They were glassy and dim. At the sight of him, a vague and disconnected smile threatened on Mike's lips, a far cry from the fearful grimace that had sat there moments before.

_Pink lips formed a perfect 'o' shape. Mike's head was thrown back and Harvey couldn't help himself but lick at the long neck that was inadvertently made available to him. Mike's surprised laugh was interrupted by his own throaty moan._

"_H-harder…Please!... Harvey…"_

"Harv…"

Harvey didn't know what he had expected to happen – for them to ride off into the sunset together? Even if they had gotten out of the city, then what would have they done? There was no Eden waiting for them just beyond New York City. He should have known better. As bitter as the admission was in his mouth, he had been a fool. There was no room for happy endings here.

"God this is all my fault – all my fault. If we'd just left before, if- if-," the words caught in his throat. Mike didn't seem to hear, his eyes sliding to the side, "I'm so sorry M-Mike. I…I-,"

"Annie? Whe-?" confused eyes turned to Harvey, "Harvey?" his speech was muddled and quiet but Harvey understood. Understood and could not bring himself to tell the truth.

A dog lay on its side, stretched out and adding to the pool of blood she lay in with every drip of red off of her snout. She could have been sleeping. Except Harvey knew she wasn't.

_Annie was asleep on the grass again, her tail twitching in her sleep. Mike gave him a small smile as he slipped out into the garden to bring her inside. Annie's eyes blinked awake at the sound of the door opening and they quickly found Mike. Her tail began to wag._

Harvey fought to smile despite his tears, tracing a reverent finger down Mike's nose – he would be strong for Mike, even now "She's fine baby, she's fine," his voice was hoarse and thin. Mike was quick to believe, nodding and ceasing to search the room for her. His eyes met Harvey's. The brightness that had captivated Harvey from the moment they had met was little more than a lingering memory now. Knowing it would be the last chance he'd ever have to say it, Harvey pressed their foreheads together and whispered against Mike's lips, "I love you." He felt Mike's lips twitch when he kissed him; he imagined him trying to smile.

Mike did not answer and did not stir again.

He drew back to stare into Mike's still face.

A grief filled scream tore from Harvey's throat. No. _No._ This wasn't happening. It was a nightmare, it had to be. Soon, he would wake to Mike's elbow in his side and Annie's tongue rudely invading his ear. He would wake to his _family_ pressing against him on all sides, warm and intimate. He wanted Mike – not this shell in his arms. But the shell was all he had left to him so he hung on and stroked its cheeks and kissed its mouth, willing it to kiss back.

"_Mmm," Harvey smiled, his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of warm lips on his: he spoke despite the contact, lips dragging against Mike's, "You should wake me like this more often."_

"Please don't leave me. Please. Please come back. Don't leave me here alone. Please. Please. Don't do this to me. I- I need you. I _love you._ Please, you can't leave. NonononoNO GOD please Mike. God please." His hoarse pleadings dissolved into desperate sobs, "No."

The revolver Harvey had given Mike lay by his limp hand. Harvey's blood slick fingers closed around it. He considered the weapon in his hands, readjusting Mike in his arms to cradle him closer.

"_Mike? Wha-," Harvey let out an undignified 'oof' when Mike suddenly wrapped an arm around his neck and swung himself up so that Harvey had little choice but to catch him, arms coming under his knees and around his back. Harvey rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling at Mike's laughter, "You're a bit big for this, don't you think?"_

He sat back, staring at the reflected images of his ruined family and willing them to change. They did not and he could take no more.

It was okay though. It was okay. He'd made a promise that they would always be together and he had never made a promise that he could not keep.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

"_I believe there is another world waiting for us. A better world. And I'll be waiting for you there." –_

'_Cloud Atlas' – David Mitchell_

* * *

_A Better World_

_Harvey grumbled, petulantly pulling his quilt up over his head to block out the sunlight that pierced his eyelids. He was pleasantly warm and sleepy, swaddled up like a child in his bed. The ghost of a dream lingered on the edge of his memory – he frowned as he tried to recall it but found the harder he tried, the faster is slipped away, dissolving into meaningless snippets and images until he wasn't sure if there had ever been something to be remembered._

_He slid a hand across the sheets, seeking the warm body that should be beside him. He frowned when he found only empty sheets though the heat permeating from them told him they hadn't long been vacated. Frustrated at finding himself alone, he fisted his fingers in the sheets and slid across to occupy the empty space and bury his face into the pillows. He drew in a deep breath._

_He couldn't help but smile at the aroma that permeated through his senses: soft and familiar. He couldn't attach a name to it – how could you describe the unique scent of another human being? But he could attach a name to the warmth that curled low in his stomach in reaction to its presence: affection, love, desire, want, contentment and so many other words. None did the feeling justice, but they were all he had._

_Finally giving up his attempts to drift back off to sleep, Harvey ventured out from the den he had made himself. Lazily freeing his head into the open air, he grimaced against the orange that flared up behind his eye lids. Stretching in a way that was distinctly feline, Harvey's arms escaped from under the covers and he finally opened his eyes. He spared the New York skyline a fleeting glance – it was as awe inspiring as usual, framed by the low winter sun. He was pleasantly surprised when he looked at the clock – it was nine am, the longest he'd managed to sleep in for months. He wanted to bask in the Sunday sun, safe in the knowledge he had nowhere he needed to be, but he found himself dissatisfied with his state of abandonment._

_Smothering a yawn, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, bracing himself to stand. A laugh drifted through the door, light and warm. Harvey didn't try to hide his smile, finding the motivation he needed to force himself to his feet. He shuffled out of his room and into the hall. Another laugh and an incredulous exclamation of:_

"_Grammy!"_

_The living room came into view and so did the back of his black leather couch where a blonde head of hair peaked out over the top. Mike chuckled and Harvey didn't think he'd ever heard a more wonderful sound in all his life._

"_Yes… yes, I promise. I promise! … Harvey as well, yes…" Harvey reached out a hand, anticipating the feel of soft hair threading through his fingers. Mike's fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place but otherwise not acknowledging his presence, "I'll see you next week then… yes I'll tell him, I promise. I love you, bye!" he heard the beep of a phone being rung off. Mike shifted, craning his neck around._

_Blue eyes met his._

* * *

_'One by one their seats were empties,  
And one by one they went away,  
Now the family is parted,  
Will it be complete one day?' –_

_Will the Circle be Unbroken?_

* * *

AN: This story originally had a happy ending, but then I got rejected from my first choice of University and I suddenly realised (for the first time in my eighteen years) that my life might not work out how I want it too.

Things have worked out for me now, and in a way, things worked out for Mike and Harvey too: they're together and they don't have to be afraid anymore and considering the world they were living in, I think that that is the best they could hope for.

Thank you for reading.


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